L 


THE  SENIOR  ALCOVE  IN  THE  LIBRARY. 


Frontispiece. 


VASSAR  STUDIES 


BY 

JULIA  AUGUSTA  SCHWARTZ 


ILLUSTRATED 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  &  LONDON 

Cbc  Knickerbocker  press 

1899 


COPYRIGHT,  1899 

BY 

JULIA  AUGUSTA  SCHWARTZ 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


Ube  ftnicherbocfeer  prcac,  "Hew  l&orfc 


PREFACE 

COLLEGE  stories  manifestly  are  written 
with  a  twofold  object.  The  essential 
motive  is  esoteric  :  to  embody  in  literary 
form  for  the  alumnae  of  a  particular  insti- 
tution memories  and  impressions  of  their 
college  days.  The  secondary  purpose  is 
to  endeavor  to  present  before  the  public 
a  truthful  picture  of  the  life  in  such  a 
community. 

To  graduates  of  colleges  for  women,  a 
series  of  sketches  which  aims  to  delineate 
their  academic  years  needs  no  prefatory 
word.  To  those,  however,  who  are  un- 
acquainted with  the  peculiar  features  of 
collegiate  life  under  the  dormitory  system, 
an  introductory  statement  may  not  be 

iii 

2072255 


iv  Preface 

amiss.  Inasmuch  as  the  important  events 
of  the  college  career  are  of  an  intellectual 
nature,  stories  treating  with  true  perspec- 
tive of  that  formative  period  must  deal 
with  character  rather  than  with  incident. 
Even  as  character  studies,  the  scope  of 
interest  is  strictly  limited  to  individuals  of 
the  same  sex  and  approximately  the  same 
age,  and  possessing — broadly  speaking — 
similar  mental  tastes  and  moral  standards. 
Furthermore,  the  members  of  this  roughly 
homogeneous  democracy  are  deprived  of 
a  certain  artistic  variety  by  being  sepa- 
rated from  the  often  picturesque  back- 
ground of  family  relations. 

In  the  case  of  Vassar  Studies  it  is  per- 
missible to  say  that  this  representation  of 
Vassar  is  necessarily  incomplete  and  in- 
adequate. "  Virgil  is  a  thousand  books 
to  a  thousand  persons."  Nevertheless  it 
is  felt  that  there  is  a  present  call  for  some 
such  portrayal  in  fiction  of  our  first  col- 
lege for  women.  The  collection  of  studies 


Preface  v 

here  offered  has  been  planned  to  repro- 
duce, by  means  of  emphasizing  in  each 
paper  a  characteristic  element  or  quality 
of  student  life,  a  faithful  impression  of 
the  spirit  and  the  personality  of  modern 
Vassar. 

J.  A.  S. 

OMAHA,  NEBRASKA, 
May  i,  1899. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — IN  SEARCH  OF  EXPERIENCE     .  .  i 

II. — THE  HISTORY  OF  AN  AMBITION  .  27 

III.— THE  GENIUS 60 

IV. — HEROIC  TREATMENT         .         .  .81 

V. — THE  CAREER  OF  A  RADICAL   .  .  98 

VI. — A  CASE  OF  INCOMPATIBILITY    .  .  126 

VII. — FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  CLASS  .  152 

VIII. — A  SUPERIOR  YOUNG  WOMAN  .  .175 

IX. — THAT  ATHLETIC  GIRL     .         .  .  199 

X. — THE  GHOST  OF  HER  SENIOR  YEAR  .  211 

XI. — DANGER 239 

XII. — ONE  OF  THE  GIRLS  .  268 


vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE  SENIOR  ALCOVE  IN  THE  LIBRARY,  Frontispiece 

THE  PLAZA 24 

VASSAR  LAKE       .         .         .         .         .  52 

THE  PINE  WALK 78 

Reproduced  by  permission  from  '96  Vassarion. 

THE  OBSERVATORY 102 

Music  HALL 130 

THE  GYMNASIUM          .....  160 

RAYMOND  HOUSE 184 

ROCKEFELLER  HALL    .         .         .         .         .210 

THE  HALL  OF  CASTS 240 

THE  SENIOR  PARLOR  .....  270 


ix 


VASSAR  STUDIES 


IN  SEARCH  OF  EXPERIENCE 

WHEN  petted  Alice  left  home  for  college, 
rejecting  escort  in  token  of  welcome  inde- 
pendence, she  started  gayly  off  alone  with 
her  mind  in  a  state  of  enthusiastic  recep- 
tivity. She  had  reached  that  point  of  life 
where  the  craving  for  novelty  and  variety 
suddenly  leaps  into  prominence.  At  this 
stage  some  young  people  plunge  with  a 
marvellous  disregard  for  other  interests 
into  the  pursuit  of  "  fun,"  which  is  only 
another  name  for  excitement  ;  others  dis- 
covering ambition  fling  themselves  upon 
endeavor  in  a  new-born  struggle  toward 
achievement ;  still  others  fall  to  dreaming. 


2  Vassar  Studies 

Alice  had  fallen  to  dreaming.  In  spite  of 
her  seventeen  years,  she  was  a  child  in 
every  respect — ignorant  of  the  world,  of 
human  nature,  of  herself.  Books  she  did 
know,  as  far  as  reading  of  them  goes,  and 
her  head  was  stuffed  full  of  disconnected 
bits  of  that  cheaply  gained  variety  of 
knowledge.  Since  the  age  of  ten,  she 
had  been  wondering  why  she  never  saw 
any  beautiful  people  like  those  described 
in  stories,  and  why  nothing  interesting 
ever  happened  to  her.  At  the  prospect 
of  college,  her  dreams  rapidly  acquired 
vividness.  She  was  tired  of  existing  in  a 
placid  village,  where  the  chief  events  were 
ordinary  little  human  catastrophes  of  birth, 
marriage,  and  death,  varied  only  by  the 
humdrum  griefs  and  joys  of  average  peo- 
ple. Basing  her  expectations  upon  her 
desires,  assisted  by  the  glowing  accounts 
of  freshmen  friends  at  Harvard,  Yale,  and 
Princeton,  she  beheld  opening  before  her 
in  the  idea  of  college  a  magnificent  vista 
of  limitless  possibilities.  Thus,  alertly 
ready  to  scrape  up  every  tiny  crumb  of  a 
sensation  within  reach,  Alice  set  out  on 


In  Search  of  Experience          3 

her  way  to  a  woman's  college  in  search  of 
experience. 

The  first  suggestion  of  adventure  met 
her  squarely  on  the  threshold  of  the  new 
life.  After  a  long  day's  journey,  having 
been  deposited  by  the  train  an  hour  late 
at  a  small  station  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  from  the  college  town,  she  was  told 
that  the  ferry  had  stopped  running  for  the 
night.  The  only  feasible  course  for  her 
and  the  two  other  passengers — strangers 
to  her — was  to  engage  a  fisherman  to  row 
them  across.  With  a  delightful  feeling  of 
mental  exhilaration  overcoming  physical 
weariness,  Alice  stood  on  the  dock  in  the 
inky  isolation  of  the  night,  watching  the 
lights  of  the  city  opposite  twinkle  across 
the  broadly  flowing  darkness  of  the  river. 
When  she  was  in  the  boat  rocking  under 
long  steady  strokes,  with  the  water  black 
beneath  and  around,  with  the  great  piers 
of  the  bridge  rising  shadowy  above  her, 
with  the  silent  outlines  of  her  companions 
barely  visible,  she  gave  a  joyful  little 
wriggle  in  her  seat.  This  was  an  advent- 
ure— an  adventure  at  last ! 


4  Vassar  Studies 

Although  the  fisherman  did  not  turn 
out  to  be  a  cut-throat,  'nor  her  fellow  pas- 
sengers disguised  bandits,  nevertheless 
they  might  have  been  such  unconventional 
members  of  society,  and  Alice  fairly  shiv- 
ered with  relief  when  she  felt  herself 
mounting  the  rickety  wharf  steps  on  the 
other  side.  Engaging  a  cabman,  who 
looked  capable  of  being  in  league  with 
highwaymen,  she  contrived  to  become 
blissfully  "  scared  "  during  the  drive  to  the 
college,  while  the  cab  rattled  over  cobble- 
stones between  lines  of  illuminated  shops, 
swung  around  corners,  and  rolled  along 
dark  roads,  with  here  and  there  a  glim- 
mering window  in  the  dusky  bulk  of  a 
dwelling,  or  a  solitary  gas-jet  flaring  lonely 
in  a  circle  of  shadows.  At  last,  a  gloomy 
hedge  stretching  endlessly  came  in  sight 
beside  a  street  sombre  under  trees.  Be- 
hind the  hedge,  rose  against  the  sky  out- 
lines of  evergreens  softly  pyramidal.  Soon 
several  houses  clustered  cosily  with  lighted 
windows  drew  her  attention  to  calcula- 
tions of  size,  wondering  if  this  was  the 
college,  and  hoping  that  it  might  prove  to 


In  Search  of  Experience          5 

be  larger  with  more  possibilities.  Then 
grating  over  car-tracks  her  conveyance 
rumbled  under  an  archway,  and  behold  ! — 
at  the  end  of  an  avenue  bordered  with 
mountain  ranges  of  tall  evergreens,  the 
mass  of  a  great  building  spread  out, 
twinkling  many  eyes  under  the  stars. 

Through  the  pleasant  days  that  fol- 
lowed, Alice  moved  serenely  open-eyed, 
having  thrust  behind  her  the  idea  of 
monotony  and  fixed  her  mind  in  anticipa- 
tion of  variety.  Some  philosophers  say 
that  in  the  conduct  of  life  attitude  is  all- 
important.  Others  assert  that  each  man 
sees  in  this  world  that  for  which  he  is 
looking.  However  that  may  be,  it  is 
certain  that  the  dreamy  home-Alice  had 
changed  into  a  wide-awake  college-Alice, 
entering  with  untiring  zest  of  enjoyment 
into  every  detail  of  the  new  mode  of 
existence. 

One  October  morning  a  classmate,  who 
roomed  near  her,  spied  her  standing  at  a 
window  where  her  scarlet  dressing  gown 
made  a  dash  of  color  in  the  gray  light  of 
the  long  corridor.  At  the  touch  of  a  hand 


6  Vassar  Studies 

on  her  shoulder,  Alice  turned  a  radiant 
face. 

"  Is  n't  this  a  splendid  wind  to  bring  the 
chestnuts  down  ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  and  the 
maple  leaves  are  different  every  day.  The 
cosmos  is  all  budded,  and  I  found  fringed 
gentians  last  week,  and  there  is  going  to 
be  a  reception  to-night.  And  Lake  Mo- 
honk  to-morrow !  Isn't  it  mysterious  to 
have  an  '  Unknown  Friend'  always  doing 
lovely  things  for  the  students  ?  This  is 
the  most  exciting  place  ! " 

"Think  so,  little  one?"  The  tone 
spoke  of  amused  benevolence. 

Alice  glanced  up  into  the  kindly  eyes. 
She  liked  this  tall  young  woman  who  was 
so  much  older  than  the  rest  of  the  girls, 
as  well  as  so  much  more  sensible  and  sym- 
pathetic. Some  instinct  told  her  vaguely 
of  beauty  of  character  springing  from 
depths  of  experience.  She  had  never 
heard  of  the  childhood  spent  among 
mountain  people,  of  the  invalid  mother, 
the  shiftless  father,  the  struggle  for  educa- 
tion, the  surrender  of  hopes  of  college  to 
help  support  the  family  of  a  rascally 


In  Search  of  Experience          7 

brother,  the  hardly  won  freedom  to  study 
when  youth  had  passed. 

"  How  old  are  you,  child  ?  " 

"  Almost  eighteen." 

"  I  'm  'most  a  thousand.  So  you  find 
a  great  wear  and  tear  of  emotions  in  this 
place?" 

"  Emotions  ?  Oh,  no,  I  have  n't 
reached  that  yet !  But  everything  is  so 
interesting.  The  old  girls  say  that  every 
Friday  and  Saturday  evening  there  will  be 
a  concert  or  a  lecture  or  a  play.  Every 
Sunday  we  have  a  different  minister,  and 
breakfast  is  half  an  hour  later  than  usual, 
and  we  have  plum  bread,  and  dinner  at 
one  instead  of  at  six.  And  other  days  the 
recitations  are  exciting  when  you  don't 
know  your  lesson  and  are  afraid  the 
teacher  will  call  upon  you.  Of  course  I 
love  to  watch  the  girls  in  chapel,  and  it  is 
such  fun  to  rush  up  to  the  dining-room 
just  when  the  maid  is  shutting  the  door 
for  the  silent  grace,  and  then  you  have  to 
bow  when  you  go  in.  There  is  always 
something  to  think  about — what  you  will 
study  now,  or  where  you  will  go  for  exer- 


8  Vassar  Studies 

cise,  or  what  you  will  wear  to  dinner,  or 
what  they  are  going  to  have  for  luncheon, 
and —  Oh,  is  n't  it  awful  when  the  maids 
bring  in  those  yellow  pudding  dishes  at  des- 
sert instead  of  something  good  !  And  the 
sophomores  tell  us  that  it  is  simply  terri- 
ble— the  question  whether  you  can  get  hold 
of  the  reference  books  in  time.  They  say 
that  examination  week  gives  you  just  one 
thrill  after  another.  And  besides  all  that, 
you  know,  we  always  have  the  weather." 

The  other  seemed  to  be  smiling  though 
her  features  remained  in  repose.  "  Yes," 
she  said  slowly  as  if  to  herself,  "  we  always 
have  the  weather." 

Hereupon  the  gong  began  to  whir,  and 
Alice  jumped.  Her  eyes  sparkled. 
"  Maybe  I  shall  be  late  to  breakfast ! 
Is  n't  it  exciting  !  " 

A  day  or  so  later,  the  older  girl  found 
Alice  wringing  out  an  assortment  of 
dripping  garments. 

"  Does  n't  the  laundry  work  suit  you  ?  " 

"  I  fell  into  the  lake,"  said  Alice,  and 
then  looked  delighted  to  hear  the  excla- 
mation of  amazement.  "  Indeed  I  did," 


In  Search  of  Experience         9 

she  explained  ;  "  I  slipped  in  stepping  from 
the  boat  to  the  dock.  I  caught  hold  of 
the  platform  and  hung  on  until  I  thought 
my  arms  were  breaking.  Did  you  ever 
feel  that  way  ?  It  is  very  interesting.  I 
suppose  people  have  a  somewhat  similar 
experience  when  they  are  strung  up  by 
their  thumbs." 

"  How  did  you  get  out  ?  " 

"  I  expected  to  drown," — calmly  ;  "no 
one  was  in  sight,  and  I  began  to  think 
about  the  flood,  and  the  tidal  wave  at 
Lisbon,  and  the  Egyptians  swallowed  up 
in  the  Red  Sea.  I  gained  a  great  deal  of 
sympathy  with  them." 

"  Mercy  !  child,  how  did  you  get  out  ?  " 

Alice's  face  was  solemn  with  enjoyment 
of  this  important  adventure.  "  All  at 
once  I  remembered  the  little  bugs  and 
slimy  things  which  the  biology  class  keeps 
in  the  mud  at  the  bottom,  and  so  I  just 
climbed  out.  It  was  n't  very  deep." 

Her  companion  gave  a  sudden  chuckle, 
and  then  grew  serious.  "  I  am  going  to 
the  doctor  for  medicine  for  you.  Such  a 
chill  is  dangerous." 


io  Vassar  Studies 

"  Thank  you,"  responded  the  girl,  adding 
in  a  wistful  voice,  "  I  have  never  been  ill, 
and  I  am  wondering  how  it  feels." 

The  messenger  stopped  on  her  way  out 
of  the  room.  "  Want  to  try  it  ?  " 

Alice  hesitated  a  moment ;  then  with  a 
twinkle,  "  Perhaps  another  time  will  do 
as  well." 

On  the  following  Saturday,  Alice  played 
in  the  tennis  tournament  for  the  champion- 
ship of  the  college.  A  blue  sky  shone 
pale  above  peaked  evergreens.  Groups 
of  girls  beside  bicycles,  on  the  grass,  or 
cuddling  under  golf  capes  on  settees 
watched  the  game  with  eyes  and  cheeks 
glowing  from  the  snap  of  autumn  in  the 
air.  Poised  alert,  Alice  exerted  herself  to 
win,  longing  for  the  sensation  of  victory. 
Defeat  coming  instead,  however,  was  wel- 
comed after  the  first  blankness  had 
softened.  Failure  was  much  more  broad- 
ening to  sympathies  than  success ;  and 
she  had  often  pondered  over  Napoleon's 
emotions  after  the  battle  of  Waterloo. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  month  of  college 
life,  certain  small  white  notes  unstamped 


In  Search  of  Experience        1 1 

appeared  in  the  mail  on  the  day  after  a 
written  test.  That  night  Alice's  neighbor 
heard  her  sobbing  when  she  should  have 
been  asleep.  Surmising  the  cause  from 
her  knowledge  of  girl-nature,  she  tapped 
on  the  door  with  the  wish  to  comfort. 
After  a  silence  she  was  admitted,  and 
found  the  child  apparently  absorbed  in 
study  by  the  drop-light  with  a  green  shade 
over  her  eyes. 

"  Any  new  experiences  to-day,  Alice  ?  " 

Lifting  her  head  quickly,  "  Why,  I 
never  thought  of  it  in  that  way,  but  it  is, 
isn't  it?" 

"  I  reckon." 

Alice  had  pushed  back  the  green  shade. 
"  There  was  Nebuchadnezzar,"  she  mur- 
mured reflectively.  Her  tall  neighbor  was 
watching  her  with  the  contented  gaze  of  a 
physician  whose  treatment  is  working  well. 

"  And  there  was  Lucifer,  too,"  after  a  pe- 
riod of  meditation,  "  '  from  morn  to  noon, 
from  noon  to  dewy  eve,'  you  remember?  " 

"  I  never  heard  that  exact  account," 
cheerfully,  "but  it  does  not  matter." 

"Well,  it  might  have  been  somebody 


12  Vassar  Studies 

else.  I  get  mixed  up  occasionally  because 
I  know  so  much.  That  was  the  trouble 
with  my  Latin.  Morn  to  dewy  eve.  Oh, 
yes,  and  there  was  Eve  herself,  and  Adam 
too.  They  all  endured  disgrace."  Her 
eyes  fell  to  the  little  white  note  at  her  el- 
bow. "  I  must  get  a  tutor  in  Latin,"  she 
explained,  adding  with  a  sigh  that  still 
quivered  from  earlier  sobs,  "  Some  varie- 
ties of  experience  are  expensive." 

Perhaps  the  most  important  event  of 
the  winter  was  a  discovery  which  Alice 
made  while  listening  to  a  lecture  on  life  in 
New  York  tenements.  Deeply  moved — 
for  it  is  needless  to  say  that  Alice  was  an  im- 
pressionable girl — and  swayed  out  of  her- 
self as  the  recital  gained  in  tragic  emphasis, 
she  was  suddenly  conscious  of  an  actual 
physical  pain  at  her  heart.  Diverted  from 
grief,  she  hurried  to  report  this  latest  gain 
in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge.  "  I  have 
learned  the  meaning  of  heartache,"  she 
announced,  somewhat  breathless  from  her 
run  down  the  corridor. 

Her  friend  had  paused  at  the  sound  of 
the  flying  footsteps.      Looking  into  the 


In  Search  of  Experience        13 

glowing  face,  "  Have  you,  dear?"  with  a 
new  note  of  gentleness  in  her  voice. 

Alice,  walking  beside  her,  broke  into  a 
little  skip.  "  It 's  an  awfully  interesting 
feeling.  It  was  a  pang  and  then  a  con- 
tracted sensation — quick  in  coming,  but 
it  stays  quite  a  while." 

"  Yes,"  echoed  her  companion  absently, 
"  it  stays  quite  a  while." 

The  philosopher  fell  to  pondering. 
"There  was  Niobe."  A  silence.  "And 
there  was  Rachel  mourning  for  her  child- 
ren." 

"Alice!" 

Alice  opened  startled  eyes.  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  be  flippant,"  she  said  ;  "  I  was 
thinking,"  she  spoke  softly,  "  of  the  heart- 
ache." 

The  woman  had  turned  sharply  away. 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  the  child,  "  if  she 
ever  had  the  heartache." 

In  a  day  or  two  Alice  had  forgotten  the 
reproof  in  a  new  emotion.  She  came 
walking  slowly  into  her  neighbor's  room 
in  a  drooping  way  that  called  forth  an 
instant  "  What  's  up  now  ?  " 


14  Vassar  Studies 

Alice  seemed  to  melt  into  a  chair. 
"  Did  you  ever  feel  uncomfortable?" 

"  Occasionally." 

"  Prickly  all  over,  and  as  if  you  did  not 
want  to  stay  in  one  place  ?  "  she  inquired, 
rising  to  move  uneasily  from  window  to 
window. 

"  Go  on." 

"  I  've  just  had  an  essay  interview." 

"  Oh,  I  see  !  " 

"  No,  you  don't.  I  beg  your  pardon, 
but  you  don't.  The  criticism  was  all 
right,  but —  The  critic  was  telling  how 
she  is  mistaken  for  a  freshman  every  year, 
and  she  said,  '  It  seems  very  strange,  con- 
sidering my  gray  hair.'  I  popped  out, 
*  Why,  I  should  think  so  ! '  and  then  I 
remembered  and  exclaimed,  '  Oh,  no  !  I 
mean  I  should  n't  think  so.' " 

"Too  bad!" 

"That  is  n't  all.  You  know  that  girl 
who  was  here  last  week  visiting  her  ?  I 
was  sure  that  it  was  her  sister,  and  so 
I  began  to  say  a  whole  string  of  nice 
things  about  how  much  prettier  her  sister 
was  in  reality  than  in  her  photograph." 


In  Search  of  Experience        15 

"Well?" 

"  It  was  n't  her  sister." 

"  Gracious  ! " 

Alice  looked  gratified.  "  Your  sympa- 
thy is  soothing  to  me — yes,  soothing  is  the 
word — but  I  wish  that  you  would  say 
something  to  distract  my  mind.  I  want  to 
get  away  from  my  thoughts.  Why-e-e  !  " 
with  a  quick  brightening  of  manner,  "  I 
am  beginning  to  have  sympathy  with 
people  who  are  tired  of  themselves  or 
troubled  by  remorse." 

Field  Day  in  the  spring  found  Alice's 
name  entered  for  the  long  dash.  The 
air  was  sunny  and  soft,  yet  of  a  tonic 
freshness.  The  evergreens,  sweeping  in 
a  generous  curve  around  the  gardens, 
formed  an  effective  background  for  the 
great  grassy  Circle.  The  spectators,  in 
bright  shirt-waists  and  sailor  hats  gay 
with  class  colors,  were  ranged  along  the 
rope  which  protected  the  race-course. 
Girls  in  dark  blue  gymnasium  suits  had 
been  jumping  and  vaulting  and  throwing 
the  basket-ball ;  they  were  now  resting  on 
mattresses  stretched  under  the  elm  tree 


1 6  Vassar  Studies 

in  the  centre  of  the  lawn,  while  attentive 
non-participants  passed  around  dippers  of 
oatmeal  water. 

Alice  and  her  two  competitors  were  far 
away  at  the  beginning  of  the  course  across 
the  grass  plat.  They  poised  for  the  start 
with  heads  low  and  hands  touching  the 
ground.  The  starter  beside  them  stood 
ready  with  her  pistol  aloft  pointing  sky- 
ward. Bang !  Alice  ran  steadily,  holding  in, 
although  one  rival  had  passed  her,  sprint- 
ing rapidly,  with  elbows  out  and  shoulders 
back.  Faintly  she  heard  cheering  shouts, 
and  caught  glimpses  of  waving  banners 
and  fluttering  ribbons,  while  through 
her  head  hummed  persistently  a  line 
of  yesterday's  Greek  lesson,  "  And  Hec- 
tor ran,  plying  swift  knees,  around  Troy." 

Ah,  the  home  stretch  !  Now  for  it ! 
Faster  and  faster  she  plied  swift  knees. 
The  leader  sped  on,  widening  the  space 
between.  Alice  bent  every  energy.  In- 
exorably the  distance  grew  broader. 
Alice  was  interested  in  the  weakness  of 
her  knees.  Her  feet  kept  trotting  along, 
one  and  then  the  other,  and  yet  they  did 


In  Search  of  Experience        17 

not  go  any  faster.  The  limp  feeling  was 
remarkably  queer.  The  leader  was  cross- 
ing the  line.  Panting  slowly  after  her, 
Alice  fell  into  somebody's  arms.  "  You 
did  splendidly  ! "  She  felt  a  sponge  on 
her  forehead  and  a  lemon  thrust  to  her 
lips.  "  Oh,"  she  gasped,  "  1  feel  more 
sympathy  with  Hector  !  " 

However  strange  it  may  appear  in  view 
of  this  rapid  succession  of  experiences 
crowded  into  one  short  year,  Alice  felt 
that  something  was  lacking  in  her  college 
life.  As  the  summer  vacation  drew  nearer, 
this  defect,  vaguely  bothersome  at  first, 
began  to  become  a  more  and  more  clearly 
defined  trouble.  How  could  she  explain 
to  the  boys  and  girls  at  home  the  fascina- 
tions of  a  woman's  college  ?  How  was 
she  going  to  paint  the  picture  with  colors 
that  would  glow  beneath  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  average  mind  ?  It  was  possi- 
ble that  the  intellectual  events,  which  had 
rendered  vividly  stimulative  the  daily 
routine  of  sleep-eat-study-recite-exercise, 
might  not  work  up  effectively  in  spectacular 
description.  Her  various  adventures,  so 


1 8  Vassar  Studies 

promising  in  the  opening  stages,  flattened 
out  wofully  in  retrospect.  On  her  arrival 
at  college  she  had  crossed  the  river  in  a 
rowboat  after  dark ;  she  had  fallen  into 
the  lake ;  she  had  been  defeated  in  the 
tennis  tournament ;  she  had  been  in- 
formed that  her  knowledge  of  Latin  was 
deficient ;  she  had  listened  with  pain  to 
accounts  of  poverty  in  tenement  districts ; 
she  had  committed  conversational  errors ; 
she  had  taken  part  in  the  great  Field 
Day  races.  The  list  ended  blankly.  She 
had  not  been  robbed  ;  she  had  not  been 
drowned  ;  she  had  not  been  driven  to  de- 
spair ;  she  had  not  been  set  adrift  in  dis- 
grace ;  she  had  not  pined  away  of  a 
broken  heart ;  she  had  not  died  of  re- 
morse ;  she  had  not  even  sprained  an 
ankle.  And  here  it  was  almost  June,  and 
she  would  go  home  without  a  word  to 
say  when  the  boys  told  of  deadly  cane- 
rushes,  defenceless  hazings,  blood-curdling 
initiation  ceremonies,  entertaining  mid- 
night sallies,  expulsions,  costly  boat-races, 
and  disastrous  football  games.  Alice  was 
rapidly  becoming  melancholy. 


In  Search  of  Experience        19 

At  this  dark  period,  she  awoke  one  day 
to  find  a  suspicion  of  dawn  breaking  over 
her  great  trouble.  It  was  the  occasion  of 
the  annual  event  known  as  the  "  Senior 
Howl." 

Every  year  the  senior  class  is  given  a 
ten  days'  vacation  just  before  Commence- 
ment. After  their  final  examination,  they 
are  accustomed  to  celebrate  the  beginning 
of  the  recess  by  spending  the  afternoon 
on  the  river,  coming  back  after  dark, 
marching  valiantly  down  the  avenue  to 
the  Main  Building,  struggling  to  shout 
and  sing  joyously,  while  the  underclass- 
men come  running  to  the  window  to 
watch  them.  Later  in  the  evening  the 
class  gathers  for  the  "Howl" — a  rollick- 
ing supper  with  good  things  to  eat,  and 
toasts  and  speeches  and  songs  and  cheering 
ad  infinitum,  though  at  times  here  and 
there  one  falls  into  a  reverie  with  the  cor- 
ners of  her  mouth  drooping,  and  the  voices 
are  always  somewhat  husky  —  perhaps 
from  excessive  indulgence  in  singing  while 
on  the  river.  When  this  banquet  is  in  pro- 
gress, it  is  a  custom  for  the  sophomores 


20  Vassar  Studies 

to  assemble  under  the  windows  to  sere- 
nade the  feasters.  Occasionally  juniors 
and  freshmen  combine  to  create  inter- 
ruptions. There  is  a  legend  that  once 
upon  a  time  a  class  of  enterprising  jun- 
iors, tempted  by  echoing  of  hilarious  rev- 
els from  behind  the  closed  firewall  doors 
of  the  third-floor  corridor,  propped  lad- 
ders to  a  window,  and  climbed  up  and 
in,  to  be  met  by  splashes  of  water  and 
shrieks.  Then  ensued  a  general  scramble, 
resulting  finally  in  an  accident  to  some 
one  falling  on  the  stairs.  Since  that  sea- 
son the  juniors  had  been  taught  by  those 
in  authority  a  certain  lothness  to  attempt 
participation  in  the  "  Senior  Howl." 

Alice,  however,  who  was  only  a  fresh- 
man, had  never  heard  of  any  express  pro- 
hibitions concerning  the  serenade.  Her 
class,  moreover,  was  of  a  peculiarly  enter- 
prising character — prone  to  espouse  re- 
form or  revolution,  as  its  later  history 
proved.  It  was  a  young  class — very 
young — with  youthful  bearing  and  spirit. 

On  the  evening  of  this  particular 
"  Howl,"  the  freshmen,  after  watching  the 


In  Search  of  Experience        21 

seniors  come  straggling  back  to  college 
in  the  soft  darkness,  began  to  gather  in 
whispering  knots  here  and  there,  in  cor- 
ners of  the  library  and  recesses  of  the 
corridors,  waylaying  groups  of  classmates 
on  the  walks  leading  from  Hall  to  Hall, 
hallooing  gently  over  "  Engaged  "  signs, 
and  withal  melting  away  mysteriously  at 
the  approach  of  any  curious  sophomore. 

As  for  the  sophomores,  they  too  held 
secret  councils,  suspicious  of  these  inno- 
cently inquisitive  freshmen  with  their 
nai've  questions  concerning  the  hour  for 
the  serenade.  The  freshmen  loved  music, 
and  they  hoped  to  be  able  to  steal  a  few 
hours  from  books  in  order  to  enjoy  the 
singing.  But  the  sophomores  declined  to 
tell  their  plans,  and  the  freshmen  lingered, 
ingenuously  purposeless,  until  the  sopho- 
mores began  to  disappear  from  corridors 
and  reading-room  and  library,  while  sounds 
of  cheering  and  clapping  drifted  down 
more  distinctly  from  the  senior  pre- 
cincts. 

At  nine  o'clock,  from  the  outline  of  a 
crowd  massed  dimly  on  the  lawn  beneath 


22  Vassar  Studies 

the  windows  of  the  senior  corridor,  rose 
voices  clear  and  sweet.  As  the  music 
floated  upward  in  the  cool  night  air,  the 
noise  of  revelry  above  grew  fainter  until 
it  had  died  away.  Sashes  were  pushed 
up,  heads  leaned  out,  and  faces  gazed 
down,  half  smiling  in  the  darkness  at  the 
loyal  loving  words,  half  saddened. 

Suddenly  an  awful  clamor  arose  from 
around  a  corner  of  the  building — a  clangor 
of  pans  pounded  with  iron  spoons,  horns 
blowing,  bells  ringing,  combs  squeaking, 
drums  beating,  and  girlish  lungs  sending 
forth  shouting  and  squealing. 

It  was  the  freshmen  ! 

And  the  serenade  was  heard  no  more. 

After  a  moment  of  dismayed  delibera- 
tion, the  sophomores  formed  a  line  of  bat- 
tle, and  made  a  dash  for  the  band  of 
enemies  who  had  halted  in  triumph  a  few 
rods  away.  And  then  the  conflict — pans 
snatched  from  clinging  hands,  bells 
grasped  voiceless,  combs  knocked  to  the 
ground,  while  mouths  tooted  at  horns 
dragged  this  way  and  that.  And  amid 
breathless  silences,  involuntary  gasps  of, 


In  Search  of  Experience        23 

"  I  beg  pardon  !  "  "  Oh,  did  I  hurt  you  ?" 
and,  "  Excuse  me,  please." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Alice  burst  in  upon 
her  neighbor,  who  had  been  spending  the 
eventful  evening  in  quietly  studying  at 
her  shabby  desk.  Glancing  up  at  the 
flushed  face  and  dilated  eyes  of  her  me- 
teoric visitor,  she  noticed  the  gown  rent 
as  if  by  brambles,  the  scratched  shoes,  and 
loosened  hair.  "  Hey  !  little  one,  take 
out  the  cork." 

Alice  bubbled  over.  "  It  was  a  battle  ! 
A  real  adventure  !  The  freshmen  fled  ! 
The  boys  shall  not  crow  any  longer  over 
the  spiciness  of  risks.  Peppery — that  is 
what  it  is  here  when  the  girls  are  roused. 
Talk  of  excitement !  " 

"  Talk  yourself,  Alice,"  was  slipped  in 
slyly  between  breaths. 

u  I  fled,  pursued  by  avenging  sopho- 
mores— six  of  them,  maybe.  Or  maybe, 
five.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Orestes  chased 
by  the  Furies?  That  is  the  way  I  felt. 
We  had  spoiled  their  serenade,  you  know. 
Angry  ?  Well — there  was  the  wrath  of 
Achilles,  and  this  was  the  wrath  of  sopho- 


24  Vassar  Studies 

mores.  Won't  it  be  fun  if  they  never 
forgive  us  !  One  of  them  snatched  the 
fudge-pan  which  you  lent  me.  I  scudded 
across  the  lawn  toward  the  Chemical  Labo- 
ratory, and  plunged  into  the  evergreen 
walk.  It  was  like  Dred  escaping  into  the 
great  Dismal  Swamp.  They  brandished 
things  as  they  came  tearing  after  me. 
They  could  not  have  known  that  the 
charivari  was  my  idea,  but  they  might 
have  forced  some  prisoner  to  confess.  I 
shot  along  the  path  by  the  Brook,  behind 
the  gas-house.  The  trees  were  all  ghosts, 
and  the  ashes  crunched  and  crackled.  I 
spied  the  enemy  in  the  shadows.  I  went 
scampering  by  the  Observatory  out  across 
the  tennis  courts,  and  hid  under  an  ever- 
green. They  hovered  around,  frightened 
— actually,  yes,  they  were  afraid  of  me. 
Dangerous  when  at  bay,  naturally.  They 
were  plotting.  Macbeth's  foes  plotted, 
you  remember.  They  said — I  did  not 
hear  distinctly,  but  I  have  not  a  doubt 
that  they  intended  to  confine  me  in  the 
catacombs  under  the  Main.  Raleigh  was 
shut  up  in  the  Tower.  But  I  slid  out  of 


In  Search  of  Experience        25 

covert.  All  the  dry  twigs  rattled  and 
snapped.  I  sped  away  behind  the  hedge, 
like  the  Israelites  fleeing  to  a  city  of 
refuge.  Just  inside  the  door, — bump  ! 
there  was  Prexie  !  Daniel  in  the  lions' 
den  !  Daniel  escaped,  you  know,  and  so 
did  I.  I  said  '  Good-morning,'  and  he 
said  nothing.  He  looked  sort  of  funny — 
eyes  twinkled.  I  don't  care.  Now  I 
have  an  adventure  to  describe.  Oh,  but 
those  sophomores  were  angry !  I  shall 
tell  the  boys- 
Just  here  two  other  freshmen  hurrying 
past  the  open  door  stopped  with  a  jerk  at 
sight  of  Alice.  "  Oh,  Alice,  we  've  had 
such  a  time  chasing  a  sophomore !  We 
could  have  caught  her  if  we  had  not  been 
afraid  of  what  she  might  do." 

"  Oh,  girls  !  "  and  Alice  broke  into  an- 
other round-eyed,  gasping  narration  of  her 
evening's  adventures.  As  she  proceeded, 
one  of  her  listeners  gave  a  little  shriek, 
and  collapsed  on  the  sofa. 

"  Yes,  was  n't  it  awful ! "    exclaimed  the 
heroine,  delighted  at  the  effect. 
"  It  is  n't  that." 


26  Vassar  Studies 

The  other  girl  had  sunk  into  a  chair 
with  her  face  in  her  hands.  "  Oh,  Alice  ! " 

"  What  is  it?  "  A  miserable  misgiving 
fluttered  about  her  heart. 

"  That  sophomore  we  were  chasing " 

"Yes?"  breathlessly. 

"  It  was  you  !  " 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Alice. 

They  looked  at  each  other.  "  Perhaps 
we'd  better  keep  it  quiet." 

"  Perhaps  we  'd  better,"  assented  meek 
tones. 

"  There  was  Falstaff,"  muttered  the 
kindly  neighbor  as  she  meditatively  sharp- 
ened a  pencil,  but  Alice  was  not  listening. 
Her  head  was  drooping  when  she  said 
good-night. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  tell  the  boys, 
Alice?" 

"  What  am  I  going  to  tell  the  boys  ?  " 
she  repeated  hopelessly  with  eyes  on  the 
floor.  A  pause  and  a  deep-drawn  sigh. 
Then  the  quick  glimmer  of  a  delightful 
idea — "  I  shall  tell  them,"  the  words  came 
out  with  a  vicious  snap,  "  '  Get  thee  to  a 
nunnery  !' ' 


II 


THE  HISTORY  OF  AN  AMBITION 

HER  first  week  at  college  had  been  a 
series  of  humiliations  to  Lois  Exeter.  On 
her  arrival  late  Friday  evening  after  her 
long  trip  across  the  continent,  while  with 
a  firm  grasp  of  bag  and  umbrella  she 
waited  at  the  door  of  the  Lady  Principal's 
office,  gazing  up  and  down  the  vista  of 
dimly  lighted  corridor,  she  spied  two  girls 
appearing  from  the  distance.  As  they 
approached,  her  keen  hearing  caught, 
"  There  is  another  poor  freshman."  She 
was  still  pondering  in  some  amaze  the 
idea  that  she  now  belonged  to  a  class 
open  to  condescension,  when  from  the 
door  beside  her  two  women  emerged  in  a 
cheerful  flutter  of  good-night  words.  One 
held  out  both  hands  cordially :  "  This  is 
27 


2$  Vassar  Studies 

Miss  Exeter,  is  it  not  ?  Is  n't  she  a  brave 
girl  to  come  all  the  way  from  California 
alone  ?"  The  other  beamed  :  "  I  received 
a  very  nice  letter  from  Miss  Exeter  last 
summer.  Somehow  I  did  not  expect  to 
see  such  a  little  thing." 

As  Lois  sank  to  sleep  that  night,  she 
was  sensible  of  confused  impressions  that, 
although  home  was  depressingly  far  away, 
the  people  here  were  charmingly  friendly  ; 
that  she  was  extremely  tired  and  the  bed 
was  delightfully  soft ;  that  the  college 
was  unexpectedly  large  and  that  she  was 
remarkably  small. 

The  following  day  Lois  felt  a  realiza- 
tion of  her  own  insignificance  burning 
slowly  into  consciousness.  During  the 
endless  waiting  in  line  and  the  business-like 
interviews  with  officials,  she  experienced 
an  obliteration  of  personal  background  in 
being  transformed  from  an  individual  into 
a  member  of  an  institution.  Nobody 
seemed  to  know  or  care  that  at  home  she 
moved  in  the  best  society,  that  her  father 
was  the  wealthiest  man  in  town,  and  that 
she  herself  had  graduated  at  the  head  of 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    29 

her  high-school  class.  When  she  entered 
the  tiny  tower  room,  which  had  fallen  to 
her  in  the  democratic  allotment,  she  sat 
down  in  the  hard  rocking-chair,  and 
frowned  severely  for  at  least  ten  minutes, 
as  she  recalled  her  white-and-gold  room 
at  home,  the  deference  of  her  old  school- 
mates, and  the  pleasant  flattery  of  her 
former  teachers. 

By  the  end  of  the  second  week  Lois's 
self-esteem  (in  which  she  was  by  no  means 
lacking)  had  been  pricked  into  a  painfully 
sensitive  condition.  When  the  students 
made  up  their  groups  for  the  dining-room, 
as  no  one  had  given  her  any  special  invi- 
tation, she  found  herself  assigned  to  a 
table  of  miscellaneous  freshmen,  who  pre- 
sumably had  been  too  shy,  or  too  indiffer- 
ent, or  too  unattractive,  to  find  comrades 
readily  among  strangers.  She  had  been 
repeatedly  snubbed  by  upper  classmen, 
not  intentionally  but  carelessly  ;  during 
the  busy  opening  days,  new  faces,  unless 
striking,  slip  easily  from  memory,  and 
Lois,  in  spite  of  her  small  and  fair  pretti- 
ness,  was  not  physically  remarkable  among 


30  Vassar  Studies 

five  hundred  comely  girls.  She  had  com- 
mitted a  number  of  mortifying  blunders, 
and  suffered  pangs  out  of  all  proportion 
— as  freshmen  sometimes  do.  Even  in 
the  class-room  she  failed  to  achieve  dis- 
tinction ;  instead  of  that  she  quickly  joined 
the  majority  in  the  frequency  of  confess- 
ing, ''  I  don't  know." 

What  stung  her  most  sharply,  how- 
ever, had  been  an  incident  occurring  one 
afternoon  when  she  was  sauntering 
through  the  Pines,  impatiently  counting 
the  minutes  of  the  hour's  exercise.  Of 
two  seniors  passing  together,  one  had 
paused  to  speak  to  her  in  kindly  fashion. 
Lois's  heart  bounded  ;  she  was  beginning 
to  be  known.  As  she  was  stepping  on 
more  lightly  through  the  mingled  shadow 
and  sunshine  of  the  path  strewn  with 
brown  pine  needles,  she  heard,  wafted 
toward  her  on  the  breeze,  "  Do  you  know 
that  little  thing?" 

"  Oh,  no,  but  I  have  met  so  many  fresh- 
men that  my  head  is  a  jumble  of  names 
and  faces.  I  have  made  a  rule  to  bow  to 
every  new  girl  who  glances  at  me  out  of 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    31 

the  corner  of  her  eye.  And  this  one 
looked  so  small  and  lonely." 

Ever  since  the  days  when  she  used  to 
shake  her  flaxen  curls  vigorously  in  an- 
swer to  sympathetic,  "  Does  baby  feel 
bad  ?  "  Lois  had  shrunk  from  pity.  Now, 
writhing  under  the  compassionate  note  in 
the  patronizing  speech,  she  felt  strength- 
ening within  her  the  desire  for  pre-emi- 
nence. To  take  her  place  above  others, 
to  be  admired,  praised,  and  sought,  to  be 
acknowledged  excellent — the  best !  At 
home  and  at  school,  she  had  always  been 
easily  first,  and  now — to  be  pitied  ! 

And  she  threw  back  her  shoulders,  and 
shut  her  teeth  hard.  And  Lois  had  a 
resolute  chin. 

One  evening  in  October,  her  vague 
longing  for  fame — the  ambition  to  do,  or 
to  be,  something  to  win  distinction — re- 
ceived a  crystallizing  touch.  Having 
slipped  into  chapel  early,  she  was  watch- 
ing the  girls  come  streaming  through  the 
wide  doors  and  up  the  aisles.  Those  who 
passed  on  to  the  choir  seats  at  the  right 
and  left  of  the  great  organ,  Lois  followed 


32  Vassar  Studies 

with  a  gaze  half  grudging  their  conspicu- 
ousness.  When  the  president  rose  to 
lead  the  exercises,  she  listened  with  stifled 
envy  at  the  thought  that  everybody  bowed 
to  him,  and  knew  his  name.  During  the 
singing  of  the  hymn,  she  heard  two  girls 
beside  her  whispering  together. 

"  There — do  you  see  that  tall  dark- 
haired  girl  in  white,  third  row  down  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  She  is  the  president  of  the  Students' 
Association.  Greatest  honor  in  the  college 
course !  Elected  by  popular  vote,  you 
know.  It  takes  an  all-round  fine  girl.  Per- 
haps I  can  arrange  to  have  you  meet  her. 
She  is  the  most  admired  girl  in  college." 

When  Lois  raised  her  head  after  the 
prayer,  her  eyes,  shining  with  a  new  idea, 
lingered  long  upon  the  tall  young  woman 
in  white,  as  the  students  filed  out,  two  by 
two,  in  orderly  array. 

It  maybe  reasonable  to  conjecture  that 
Miss  Lois  Exeter,  being  a  remarkably 
clear-sighted  young  person,  took  stock 
that  very  evening  of  her  prospects  for  se- 
curing the  coveted  honor.  In  the  first 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    33 

place,  and  of  weightiest  significance  in 
her  case,  was  the  determination  to  suc- 
ceed. Her  will  was  unusually  strong ; 
her  energies  were  concentrated,  however 
subtly,  upon  one  purpose.  In  the  second 
place,  she  possessed  the  ability  to  fill  a 
public  office  such  as  that  in  view.  An  in- 
tellect above  the  average,  a  certain  ma- 
turity of  judgment,  and  dignity  of  manner 
were  reinforced  by  command  of  language, 
and  tact — circumspect  rather  than  intui- 
tive. In  the  third  place,  Lois  had  her 
full  womanly  share  of  political  talent. 

Among  the  students  generally  there 
was  an  unworldly  attitude  with  respect  to 
competitive  rewards  ;  there  was  a  tacit 
feeling  that  some  unbecomingness  lay  in 
striving  for  self-aggrandizement.  Com- 
paratively few  entered  the  lists  in  compe- 
titions— athletic  or  literary  ;  in  scholarship 
the  prizes  were  openly  contemned  as  nox- 
ious to  the  spirit  of  true  learning.  In 
such  a  campaign  as  Lois  now  began,  she 
had  the  advantage  of  consciously  aiming 
for  the  mark.  Few  of  her  mates  looked 
so  far  ahead  as  their  senior  year ;  few  had 


34  Vassar  Studies 

the  requisite  self-esteem  to  recognize 
themselves  as  possible  candidates  ;  almost 
all  considered  the  honor  in  the  light  of  a 
spontaneous  acknowledgment  of  excel- 
lence. 

Lois's  method  during  the  first  two  years 
was  to  make  herself  known,  to  impress 
with  her  ability,  and — most  important  of 
all — to  win  popularity.  In  this  she  suc- 
ceeded, though  not  without  sacrifices  of 
time,  inclinations,  and  minor  ambitions. 

A  policy  of  universal  sociability  forbade 
the  formation  of  special  friendships.  Lois 
gave  up  many  an  opportunity  of  compan- 
ionship with  those  congenial  to  her,  for 
the  sake  of  extending  her  circle  of  ac- 
quaintances throughout  the  mass  of  more 
ordinary  students.  After  once  forming  a 
connection  with  any  one,  she  never  per- 
mitted a  cessation  of  amicable  relations. 
She  made  it  a  point  to  appear  always 
sympathetic,  helpful,  and  eager  to  confer 
favors — a  state  of  mind  which  met  enthu- 
siastic appreciation  from  those  who  felt 
the  isolation  of  that  necessarily  self-ab- 
sorbed life. 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    35 

The  cultivation  of  popularity,  further- 
more, interfered  with  thoroughness  in  class 
work.  To  accomplish  well  each  day's  al- 
lotted task  demanded  the  student's  best 
energies.  It  was  impossible  for  Lois  to 
do  justice  to  every  interest  which  she  had 
assumed  in  order  to  prove  her  ability  and 
public  spirit.  She  belonged  to  a  number 
of  societies — athletic,  dramatic,  literary, 
social,  and  charitable ;  she  never  declined 
to  serve  on  committees ;  she  earnestly 
sought  every  available  office,  no  matter 
how  obscure  the  honor  or  burdensome 
the  duties.  In  countless  ways  her  time 
leaked  away.  Her  room  became  a  rendez- 
vous for  the  socially  inclined ;  half-hours 
slipped  away  in  fraternal  loitering  through 
the  corridors,  and  in  neighborly  chats  pro- 
longing business  errands  ;  entire  evenings 
vanished  during  inopportune  visits  from 
conscienceless  idlers.  Even  her  precious 
minutes  sacred  to  concentrated  study  in 
the  library  were  often  stolen  from  her  by 
the  whispered  consultations  of  inquiring 
friends. 

In  the  spring    of   her   freshman  year, 


36  Vassar  Studies 

Lois  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the 
necessity  of  making  a  far-reaching  deci- 
sion. It  appeared  to  her  that,  as  she  was 
neither  phenomenally  brilliant  nor  strik- 
ingly attractive,  she  must  choose  between 
alternate — not  certainties,  but  possibilities. 
Her  hopes  of  being  elected  president  of 
the  Students'  Association  were  built  upon 
popularity  rather  than  obvious  superiority. 
That  popularity — not  easily  won,  as  in 
some  cases  —  could  be  fostered  only 
through  the  expenditure  of  time  and  en- 
ergy. To  employ  her  forces  in  that  way 
might  shut  her  off  from  another  ambition  : 
to  excel  in  scholarship  throughout  the 
college  course. 

On  a  certain  evening  in  March,  she  was 
hovering  on  the  outskirts  of  the  senior 
corridor,  near  enough  to  see  the  class 
clustering  within  the  parlor  at  the  end  of 
the  vista.  Some  one,  perched  on  the 
piano  stool,  was  reading  the  just-issued 
official  list  of  those  seniors  who  had 
achieved  distinction  in  their  college  work. 
Lois  heard  the  shouting,  clapping,  and 
nervous  laughter  which  greeted  each 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    37 

name  ;  she  saw  the  ecstatic  congratula- 
tions with  which  the  girls  fell  upon  the 
honored  students.  Sympathetically  she 
scanned  the  subduedly  radiant  face  in  the 
centre  of  each  rejoicing  group,  and  almost 
envyingly  she  noted  the  generous  exulta- 
tion of  those  who  remained  undistin- 
guished. 

Then,  walking  rapidly  to  her  own  room, 
resolutely  she  scribbled  "  Engaged  "  on 
the  back  of  an  envelope,  and  pinned  it  on 
the  outside  of  her  door.  Relaxing  com- 
fortably into  an  easy-chair,  freed  from 
harassing  expectation  of  knocks,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  bend  her  mind  upon  a  long 
piece  of  work  in  mathematics.  Soon  foot- 
steps in  the  hall  roused  peaceful  memo- 
ries of  the  "  Engaged "  sign  ;  she  must 
have  these  two  hours  secure  from  inter- 
ruption. After  a  restless  pattering,  the 
intrusive  footsteps  withdrew  for  a  few 
minutes  only  to  return  more  decided.  A 
voice  floated  over  the  transom  :  "  Lois, 
oh,  Lois !  won't  you  please  help  me  with 
this  Latin  ?  It  can't  take  more  than  two 
seconds." 


38  Vassar  Studies 

Though  the  "  Come"  sounded  the  least 
bit  short,  Lois  had  a  smile  ready  when 
some  one  was  wafted  in  with  a  flutter  of 
curly  hair  and  rose-silk  wrapper.  The 
two  seconds  had  lengthened  to  fifteen 
minutes  before  the  caller  had  finished 
rattling  on  about  the  delights  of  her  re- 
cent trip  to  New  York.  When  at  last 
alone,  Lois  turned  again  to  her  problem, 
first  closing  the  transom,  as  sounds  of  rev- 
elry from  the  next  room  were  growing 
more  penetrating. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  somebody 
was  dancing  a  double-shuffle  against  her 
door.  Another  voice  came  through  the 
keyhole:  "  Lois,  Lois,  we  Ve  brought  you 
fudges  and  molasses  candy."  A  mo- 
ment's irritation  gave  way  to  a  soothing 
consciousness  that  this  was  one  of  the 
penalties  of  popularity.  Opening  her 
door  in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  girl 
disappearing  into  the  neighboring  alley- 
way, Lois  was  bending  to  pick  up  the 
candies,  when  some  one  else  with  black 
hair  wildly  loose  flew  down  the  stairs,  and 
dashed  up  to  her.  "  Oh,  Lois,  I  'm  going 


The  History  of  an  Ambition     39 

crazy !  Those  people  under  my  room 
are  having  a  party,  and  the  noise  all 
comes  up  the  register.  I  can't  translate  a 
single  line.  Won't  you  speak  to  them  ? 
You  are  on  the  self-government  com- 
mittee." 

Lois  hesitated  imperceptibly.  Though 
as  a  member  of  that  most  important  com- 
mittee of  the  Students'  Association  her 
duty  concerned  this  point,  she  dreaded 
the  antagonizing  tendency  of  a  reproof. 
Smothering  inclination,  however,  —  for 
Lois  was  a  girl  of  principle, — she  promised 
relief. 

The  odor  of  boiling  chocolate  and  mo- 
lasses was  permeating  the  corridor,  when 
Lois  tapped  on  her  neighbor's  door.  The 
room  seemed  full  of  girls  and  laughter. 
One  was  playing  a  banjo,  and  another  was 
trying  a  tune  on  a  comb,  while  the  rest  ap- 
peared to  be  all  chattering  at  once.  Lois 
was  greeted  with  a  chorus  of  welcome. 

As  she  found  a  seat  among  half  a  dozen 
girls  on  the  divan,  "  I  heard  your  fun," 
she  began,  accenting  the  verb. 

"  Squelched  !  "     groaned   the    hostess, 


40  Vassar  Studies 

flourishing  a  big  spoon ;  "  hurry  and  give 
her  something  to  eat." 

Lois  helped  herself  calmly.  "  Ladies, 
as  a  representative  of  self-government,  I 
must  protest  against  this  disturbance  of 
the  vicinity.  It  is  not  etiquette  to  give 
parties  on  Monday  night." 

"  Squelch  on,"  muttered  the  wielder  of 
the  sticky  spoon,  while  several  others 
broke  out : 

"  Nobody  is  studying  to-night." 

"  We  are  all  celebrating  senior  honors." 

"Talk  to  the  seniors  about  howling." 

Lois  pretended  to  reflect.  "  You  also 
may  have  the  right  to  howl,  when  you 
find  your  name  on  the  honor  list." 

"  I  don't  think  that  it  is  a  very  great 
honor,"  responded  one  ;  "  some  of  the 
brightest  seniors  are  n't  on  it." 

"  It  is  a  distinction  for  digs,"  put  in  an- 
other. 

"  Well,"  Lois  felt  her  way  cautiously, 
"  it  requires  ability  and  industry— 

"  And  a  system  of  judicious  reviewing 
and  a  well-worn  '  Engaged  '  sign." 

A  serious-faced  girl  beside   Lois  bent 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    41 

forward  earnestly.  "  You  see,  in  a  way, 
the  idea  of  graduating  with  honors  tempts 
a  student  to  work  for  marks,  and  that  is 
unscholarly." 

"  Oh,  nobody  works  for  marks  here," 
exclaimed  another,  "  and  we  never  know 
what  they  are  anyway,  unless— 

"  Oho  !  unless  the  information  is  ac- 
companied by  a  polite  suggestion  con- 
cerning the  rates  for  tutoring." 

Lois  spoke  :  "  At  any  rate,  the  nature 
of  college  life  is  primarily  intellectual,  and 
the  honor  students  are  those  who  have 
excelled  in  that  sphere.  It  is  fair  to  sup- 
pose that  they  possess  ability  above  the 
average." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so  ! "  burst  out  sev- 
eral ;  and  another  added,  "  It  is  n't  such  a 
great  honor  to  be  one  among  sixteen  or 
more." 

The  night  seemed  long  to  Lois.  She 
could  not  bring  herself  to  resign  either 
possibility.  A  strain  of  New  England 
ancestry,  combined  with  her  woman's  con- 
scientiousness where  higher  education  is 
concerned,  forbade  her  to  slight  her  work 


42  Vassar  Studies 

to  any  glaring  degree,  even  while  her 
stronger  desires  led  her  to  place  first  the 
honor  carrying  with  it  the  greater  pre-emi- 
nence. Although  her  knowledge  from 
observation,  and  her  common  sense,  told 
her  that  for  her  to  strive  for  both  rewards 
might  rob  her  of  vitality  for  future  years, 
she  was  unable  to  surrender  endeavor. 
She  knew  that  she  could  cultivate  a  knack 
of  making  brilliant  recitations  upon  super- 
ficial preparation  ;  she  let  slip  the  stand- 
ard of  thoroughness.  It  is  an  interesting 
fact,  significant  of  attitude,  that,  after  that 
evening,  visitors  rarely  found  an  "  En- 
gaged "  sign  guarding  her  solitude. 

The  progress  which  Lois  had  made  to- 
ward her  goal  was  fully  indicated  during 
the  course  of  a  discussion  among  a  group 
of  her  classmates  one  Sunday  morning  in 
May  of  her  sophomore  year. 

Half  a  dozen  girls,  carrying  with  them 
the  luxury  of  pillows,  had  strolled  out  to 
the  clover  slope  behind  the  Chemical  Labo- 
ratory. Under  the  shade  of  a  parasol, 
one  of  them  was  reading  aloud,  while  the 
others,  half  hidden  in  the  sweet-scented 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    43 

depths  of  red  and  white  clovers,  were 
lazily  watching  soft  fleecy  clouds  float 
above  Sunset  Hill.  Now  and  then  a 
bobolink  rose  from  near  the  ground,  pour- 
ing forth  a  bubbling  stream  of  music,  as 
he  winged  his  joyous  way  to  another  bend- 
ing twig.  Sometimes  a  butterfly  flitted 
by,  or  a  little  breeze,  wandering  over  the 
blossoming  field,  brought  whiffs  of  sum- 
mer fragrance. 

When  the  story  had  come  to  an  end, 
one  of  the  listeners  sat  up,  showing  fair 
cheeks  flushed  pink,  and  blue  eyes  drows- 
ily shining.  "  I  think  that  heroine  is  very 
much  like  Lois  Exeter,"  she  announced. 

At  this,  a  head  of  short  curls  rose  from 
the  clover.  "  Why,  Grace,  Lois  is  not 
naturally  popular." 

"  Everybody  likes  her." 

Another  head  appeared.  "  She  is  al- 
ways doing  favors.  She  helped  me  all 
through  algebra,  and  at  the  table  she  has 
hardly  time  to  eat,  because  she  is  so  busy 
in  passing  things." 

"It  makes  me  nervous  to  have  anybody 
so  attentive,"  laughed  the  second  speaker. 


44  Vassar  Studies 

"  I  'm  awfully  fond  of  Lois,  but  still  she 
makes  me  drink  too  much  milk  by  keep- 
ing my  glass  filled  constantly." 

"  She  is  as  sympathetic  as  she  can  be," 
put  in  the  girl  who  had  been  reading.  "  I 
go  to  see  her  whenever  I  am  blue." 

"  What  does  she  do  ?  Give  you  nut- 
cake  and  salted  almonds  ?  " 

Hereupon  Grace  interrupted  :  "  You 
know  that  she  is  generosity  itself  about 
everything  she  has,  and  she  is  unselfish 
and  courteous  and  careful  of  people's  feel- 
ings." 

The  curly-haired  critic  looked  wise. 
"  The  main  reason  for  her  popularity  is 
the  way  she  has  of  flattering  people." 

"  That  is  unkind,"  spoke  up  the  cham- 
pion with  an  angry  note. 

A  new  voice  floated  up  from  the  green 
depths :  "  She  means  that  Lois's  manner 
gives  the  impression  that  she  values  your 
society,  appreciates  praise  from  you,  and 
respects  your  opinions  more  than  those 
of  any  one  else." 

"  Well,"  meditating,  "  perhaps  I  did 
mean — ah — courtesy  assisted  by — brains. 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    45 

The  only  point  which  I  am  attempting  to 
make  is  that  like  most  of  us  poor  mortals 
Lois  is  not  naturally  popular.  She  is 
obliging  and  delightful  from  principle. 
She  is  really  one  of  the  strongest  charac- 
ters in  the  class,  but  she  was  not — so  to 
speak — born  popular,  like  our  Margaret 
here,  for  instance." 

"The  question  is,  Should  I,  or  should 
I  not,  bow  in  response?"  came  from  the 
invisible  speaker,  before  she  appeared  out 
of  the  clover.  She  was  a  fine-looking  girl 
with  earnest  eyes  and  a  sincere  manner. 

Under  the  parasol,  the  reader,  finger- 
ing the  leaves  of  her  book,  scanned  Mar- 
garet reflectively.  "  I  certainly  think  that 
Margaret  is  more  like  the  heroine  than 
Lois  is." 

"  Oh,  come,"  in  careless  expostulation, 
"  we  talk  too  much  about  ourselves  in 
this  place." 

"  Lois  says  that  it  is  as  bad  as  gossip," 
remarked  Grace. 

"  Lois  has  brains,"  commented  the  critic, 
trying  to  smooth  her  curls  as  she  studied 
Margaret's  unruffled  part. 


46  Vassar  Studies 

"  She  is  one  of  the  brightest  girls  in  the 
class,"  added  another. 

"  And  everybody  likes  her,"  persisted 
the  champion. 

"  Exactly,"  assented  the  critic  ;  "  she  has 
brains." 

As  the  time  drew  near,  in  the  spring  of 
her  junior  year,  when  the  nominations  for 
the  presidency  of  the  Students'  Associa- 
tion were  to  be  made,  Lois's  brains  were 
keen  enough  to  perceive  clearly  that,  not- 
withstanding her  general  popularity,  it 
occurred  to  no  one  that  she  might  be  a 
probable  candidate.  In  choosing  this 
officer,  who  was  supposed  to  be  as  far  as 
possible  typical  of  the  student  body — who 
was  their  deputy  in  dealing  with  the 
Faculty  and  with  other  colleges — who 
represented  them  before  the  world  of 
curious  guests  on  Founder's  Day,  the  girls 
sought  nominees  who  should  combine 
both  physical  and  mental  distinction. 

The  fact  that  Lois,  though  pretty  in  a 
vivacious  way,  was  too  immature-looking 
to  be  personally  impressive  to  strangers, 
was  undoubtedly  the  reason  why  she  was 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    47 

not  mentioned  in  discussions  of  the  com- 
ing campaign.  However,  she  had  not 
laid  the  foundation  of  success  at  such  ex- 
pense to  lose  all  for  lack  of  a  timely  sug- 
gestion. Her  political  genius  was  called 
peremptorily  into  play. 

One  day,  while  chatting  about  the 
election,  her  champion,  Grace,  in  giving 
the  list  of  desirable  candidates,  concluded 
with  the  remark  :  "  But  most  of  the  girls 
think  that  Margaret  would  be  the  best. 
She  is  brilliant  and  well  balanced  and  dig- 
nified and  fine-looking,  and  everybody 
admires  her." 

"  Do  we  know  whether  she  has  execu- 
tive power?"  demurred  Lois,  with  two 
lines  deepening  between  her  eyes ;  "  she 
has  never  had  anything  to  say  in  meetings 
of  the  Association,  and  she  never  served 
on  the  self-government  committee.  We 

o 

ought  to  choose  some  one  who  has  proved 
her  ability,  and  so  avoid  the  risk  of 
untried  material." 

Grace  looked  perplexed.  "  Everybody 
thinks  that  Margaret  has  a  great  amount 
of  executive  force." 


48  Vassar  Studies 

"It  may  be  merely  her  reserved  man- 
ner," suggested  Lois,  impatiently  remem- 
bering her  own  record  of  service  on 
various  committees  of  the  Association ; 
"we  should  select  candidates  from  among 
those  students  who  have  been  prominent 
in  work  such  as  will  be  required  of  the 
head  of  self-government." 

Grace  pondered.  "  Why,  Lois,  you 
have  been  as  prominent  as  any  !  Why,  I 
never  thought  of  that  before.  I  do  be- 
lieve that  you  could  make  a  good  presi- 
dent, only " 

"  Only  what  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing."  Then,  after  a  silence : 
"  And  you  are  one  of  the  girls  who 
deserve  some  big  honor  before  we  grad- 
uate. I  always  said  that  you  should  have 
been  on  the  Miscellany  Board.  And  we 
all  thought  it  such  a  shame  when  you  lost 
the  speakership  of  T.  and  M.,  and  the 
election  as  class  secretary.  You  certainly 
ought  to  have  something  in  our  senior 
year." 

Before  the  day  was  over,  the  name  of 
Lois  Exeter  was  included  in  the  list  of 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    49 

possible  candidates  for  the  highest  honor 
in  the  college  course.  General  amaze- 
ment at  first  hearing  the  idea  soon 
merged  into  a  judicial  weighing  of  quali- 
fications and  advantages.  An  attitude  of 
mind,  somewhat  surprising  to  any  one  ac- 
quainted only  with  normal  American  poli- 
tics, was  revealed  in  the  interpretation  of 
the  fact  that  Lois  had  met  with  defeat  in 
several  recent  elections  for  petty  offices. 
As  Grace  had  said,  the  opinion  seemed  to 
be  that  she  merited  a  recompense  for  the 
disappointment. 

One  week  before  the  day  set  for  the 
election,  the  nominations  made  by  ballot 
resulted  in  the  choice  of  Margaret  and 
Lois.  Then  ensued  a  long-drawn  sus- 
pense of  seven  nervous  days.  Lois  was 
aware  of  being  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion everywhere ;  she  felt  herself  open  to 
a  fire  of  criticism  concerning  each  event  of 
her  life  at  college.  She  knew  that  she 
was  being  pointed  out  to  the  freshmen 
whom  she  had  not  met,  and  she  could 
almost  hear  the  comments  descriptive  of 
her,  as  she  walked  down  the  chapel  aisle. 


50  Vassar  Studies 

What  she  found  hardest  to  endure  smil- 
ingly was  the  joking  of  the  girls  over  her 
"  chances."  It  struck  her  as  being  in  ex- 
tremely poor  taste,  inasmuch  as  the 
humor  of  the  chaffing  depended  wholly 
upon  the  outcome  of  the  election.  A 
particular  incident  caused  her  forced 
merriment.  One  of  her  protegees  came  to 
her  in  bewildered  simplicity.  "  Won't 
you  please  advise  me  impartially,  Lois  ? 
I  cannot  decide  for  whom  to  vote ;  I  ad- 
mire Margaret  so  much,  and  you  are  such 
a  friend  of  mine." 

After  breakfast  on  the  appointed  May 
Saturday,  a  meeting  of  the  Students' 
Association  was  called  for  the  election  of 
officers  for  the  following  year.  Less  than 
a  quorum  responded.  With  a  selfish  lack 
of  interest  that  boded  ill  for  woman  suf- 
frage, a  goodly  number  of  the  outgoing 
senior  class  did  not  attend.  The  juniors 
were  present  in  full  force,  as  party  spirit 
for  their  rival  candidates  ran  high.  Some 
of  the  sophomores  could  not  spare  an  hour 
from  toiling  over  history  in  the  library,  and 
others  consented  to  come  only  on  condi- 


The  History  of  an  Ambition     51 

tion  that  they  might  bring  their  books 
to  study.  With  characteristic  curiosity, 
most  of  the  freshmen  were  there  for  the 
fun  of  the  novelty.  It  was  found  neces- 
sary to  send  out  recruiting  officers  to 
drum  up  a  quorum.  Meanwhile,  Mar- 
garet and  Lois  remained,  ostensibly  study- 
ing, in  their  respective  rooms. 

To  Lois,  alone  behind  her  closed  door, 
the  minutes  stretched  out  interminably. 
At  first  she  made  a  pretense  of  working 
over  astronomical  calculations,  but  soon 
dropping  her  pencil  she  began  to  pace 
restlessly  from  desk  to  window,  with 
every  sense  on  the  alert  to  catch  any 
signs  of  approaching  messengers.  She 
had  reached  a  stage  where  long-continued 
expectation  and  struggle  to  achieve  a  pur- 
pose had  apparently  deadened  desire.  It 
seemed  to  her  on  the  surface  that  she 
would  not  care  much,  no  matter  what  the 
result ;  and  yet  all  the  while,  deep  in  her 
heart,  she  shrank  in  terror  from  the  possi- 
ble blankness  of  a  certainty.  She  began 
to  reflect  dully  that  no  honor  was  worth 
the  price  which  she  had  paid  on  specula- 


52  Vassar  Studies 

tion,  as  it  were.  She  thought  regretfully 
of  the  opportunities  for  real  friendship 
and  scholarly  accomplishment  which  had 
been  sacrificed  to  frittering  pastimes  and 
uninteresting  companions. 

Then,  with  the  well-known  superstitious 
feeling  that  to  expect  the  worst  may  ward 
it  off,  she  pretended  to  herself  that  Mar- 
garet was  surely  elected ;  otherwise,  by 
this  time,  Grace  would  have  come  run- 
ning to  announce  the  good  news.  With 
a  sudden  throb  of  fierce  jealousy,  she 
wondered  why  Margaret  should  have 
everything — beauty,  popularity,  success — 
without  an  effort. 

And  the  girls  would  pity  her  !  Smitten 
with  a  swift  unreasoning  desire  to  escape 
somewhere  out  of  sight,  away  from  their 
effusive  condolence  and  maddening  pet- 
ting, she  rushed  to  the  door  just  in  time 
to  hear  the  sound  of  far-away  clapping, 
and  the  quick  patter  of  flying  footsteps  in 
the  corridor.  Drawing  herself  up,  she 
tried  to  smile.  Grace  dashed  upon  her. 
"  You  Ve  got  it !  You  Ve  got  it ! " 

Lois  turned  white.      Across  her  mind 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    53 

flashed  instinctively,  "  Poor  Margaret ! " 
And  then  a  glow  shone  out  in  her  eyes, 
and  she  threw  back  her  head,  and  smiled. 

Late  that  night,  after  the  chattering 
girls  who  had  thronged  her  room  all  day 
had  at  last  left  her  alone  with  Grace,  she 
sank  down  among  the  pillows  on  her 
couch,  saying,  "If  you  don't  mind,  Grace, 
I  think  I  '11  cry." 

As  the  months  of  her  senior  year 
passed  on,  Lois  discovered  the  taste  of 
ashes  underneath  the  sweetness  of  pre- 
eminence. When  she  took  the  chair  as 
president  of  the  Students'  Association,  in 
spite  of  the  enthusiastic  applause,  she  felt 
subtly  that  an  atmosphere  of  antagonistic 
criticism  had  gathered  about  her  success. 
Craving  commendation  to  justify  herself 
in  the  conspicuous  position  which  she  had 
assumed,  she  sounded  a  number  of  girls 
afterward  with  respect  to  their  opinions. 
All  said  that  she  did  very  well ;  one  envied 
her  her  knowledge  of  Roberts's  Rules  of 
Order ;  another  wished  for  half  as  much 
self-possession ;  a  third  suggested  that 
she  speak  a  trifle  more  distinctly.  Not 


54  Vassar  Studies 

until  she  had  ceased  to  care  so  keenly  did 
any  one  give  her  the  spontaneous  praise 
for  excellence  for  which  she  longed. 

Time  glided  on,  bringing  discomfort 
and  disappointment,  as  well  as  morsels  of 
satisfaction.  It  became  the  custom  for  a 
certain  group  to  oppose  whatever  meas- 
ures she  advocated  in  the  Association. 
She  was  at  odds  with  several  on  the  Ex- 
ecutive Board.  She  found  that  she  bore 
the  public  responsibility  for  all  the  irra- 
tionalities of  the  student  body.  Many  of 
her  pet  plans  for  reform  miscarried.  Not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  every  student 
knew  her,  and  the  freshmen  always  looked 
shyly  pleased  to  receive  a  bow,  notwith- 
standing her  official  prominence  at  many 
a  social  function,  notwithstanding  the 
delightful  importance  attaching  to  her 
views,  she  was  ill  at  ease — sensible  of  crit- 
ical eyes  ready  to  note  any  defect  or 
error. 

One  pleasure,  for  which  she  had  blindly 
hoped,  befell  her,  though  with  diminished 
glory  of  demonstration.  In  March,  when 
the  list  of  those  who  had  completed  the 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    55 

college  work  with  honor  was  to  be  made 
public,  the  senior  class,  in  token  of  dis- 
approbation of  the  system,  requested  that 
the  announcement  might  be  made  pri- 
vately, without  jubilation,  to  each  of  the 
students  concerned.  Traces  of  repressed 
satisfaction  over  the  unusual  length  of 
the  list,  however,  appeared  among  the 
seniors  themselves,  and  the  congratula- 
tions, though  almost  guiltily  sedate,  were 
warm.  The  first  wave  of  gladness,  reced- 
ing, left.  Lois  with  remorseful  memories 
of  showily  superficial  scholarship.  Never- 
theless, she  was  far  happier  than  before 
in  having  this  salve  for  the  pin-pricks  of 
self-distrust :  the  fact  that  Margaret  had 
failed  to  attain  a  similar  distinction  seemed 
to  indicate  that  she  was  really  less  typical 
of  the  standard  college  girl  than  Lois  had 
proved  herself. 

This  second  and  less  valued  success 
heightened  Lois's  anticipatory  fancies  of 
the  coming  Founder's  Day.  Through  all 
the  harassing  cares  of  her  official  term, 
she  had  nourished  fondly  the  idea  of  the 
glory,  shared  with  no  one  else  for  the 


56  Vassar  Studies 

time  being,  of  representing  the  student 
body  before  the  world  on  the  birthday  of 
the  founder.  Then  she  would  be  pointed 
out  as  "the  president  of  the  Students' 
Association — the  most  admired  girl '  in 
college." 

At  last,  the  day  arriving  found  Lois, 
after  a  final  worried  scrutiny  of  the  image 
in  the  mirror,  walking  swiftly  down  to  the 
college  parlors.  The  speaker  for  the 
day,  whom  she  was  to  introduce  with  her 
carefully  prepared  speech  to  the  audience 
waiting  upstairs,  was  already  there,  im- 
maculate in  dress-suit  and  shining  linen. 
At  the  door  of  the  chapel,  crowded  with 
students  and  their  guests,  when  Lois 
spied  the  faces  turned  toward  her  from 
the  seats  or  bending  curiously  from  the 
gallery,  she  was  struck  with  sudden  shy- 
ness, and  advanced  with  downcast  eyes 
down  the  long  aisle,  on  the  lecturer's  arm. 
She  forgot  to  wonder  if  the  girls  liked 
her  gown.  It  seemed  as  if  they  would 
never  reach  the  platform,  and  then  that 
the  steps  were  endless  leading  up.  Fi- 
nally, she  knew  that  she  was  mechanically 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    57 

sinking  into  a  little  gilded  chair  set  before 
a  bank  of  palms,  and  she  saw  her  escort 
carefully  deposit  his  roll  of  manuscript  on 
the  floor  before  taking  the  other  seat  of 
honor. 

Her  speech  was  to  come  as  soon  as  the 
music  ceased.  With  a  flutter  of  eyelids, 
she  stole  a  glance  at  the  audience — rows 
and  rows  of  faces  stretching  into  the  far- 
thest corner.  She  felt  herself  growing 
pale,  while  an  unreasoning  terror  crept 
over  her.  What  if  she  should  break 
down !  After  these  four  years !  And 
the  girls  would  pity  her!  It  was  time  for 
her  to  speak.  Almost  involuntarily  she 
rose,  and  moving  a  few  steps  forward, 
opened  her  lips.  She  did  not  know  what 
she  was  saying ;  she  was  conscious  only 
of  an  uncontrollable  trembling,  as  she 
heard  her  own  voice  ring  out  and  echo 
back  from  the  roof.  Then  she  remem- 
bered that  the  elocution  teacher  had  cau- 
tioned her  against  permitting  that  metallic 
ring  to  become  manifest,  and  she  found 
herself  listening  for  it,  as  if  it  were  the 
voice  of  another  person.  After  a  while 


58  Vassar  Studies 

she  began  to  notice  different  faces  here 
and  there.  One,  far  away,  leaning  toward 
her  from  the  gallery,  smiled.  It  was 
Margaret,  and  all  at  once  Lois  was  smit- 
ten with  the  realization  that  she  could 
not  remember  the  first  word  of  the  next 
sentence.  An  instant's  pause,  with  hun- 
dreds of  faces  staring  up  at  her,  and 
then — her  tongue  continued  mechanically 
through  the  laboriously  practised  speech. 
At  last,  in  the  sweetest  rapture  of  relief 
which  she  had  ever  experienced,  she  was 
again  in  the  gilded  chair,  and  the  most 
glorious  moment  had  passed. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  left  alone 
for  a  moment  after  the  illustrious,  if  some- 
what fatiguing,  ordeal  of  playing  a  part 
on  the  grand  Reception  Committee,  Lois 
had  sunk  down  to  rest  in  a  nook  cur- 
tained with  Bagdads.  From  behind  her 
came  snatches  of  a  low-toned  conversation. 

"  She  was  like  a  doll."  It  was  the  voice 
of  that  classmate  whom  Lois,  in  an  un- 
guarded moment,  had  once  nicknamed 
"Tennyson's  Brook." 


The  History  of  an  Ambition    59 

"  A  pretty  doll,  but  then  not  much  life." 

"Yes,  was  n't  it  too  bad  !  She  is  really 
a  very  nice  little  thing — bright,  you  know, 
and  quantities  of  character,  and  all  that." 

"It  is  an  honor,  is  n't  it,  to  be  presi- 
dent of  the  Students'  Association?" 

"  Oh,  sometimes.  It  used  to  be.  Last 
year  we  elected  the  brainiest  girl  in  col- 
lege; and  the  year  before  she  was  the 
most  popular ;  and  when  I  entered,  the 
president  was  simply  the  best  all-round 
fine  girl." 

"And  this  one?" 

"This  one?  Oh,  Lois.  Well,  I  don't 
know.  I  never  understood  exactly  why 
we  chose  her,  unless — well,  you  see,  she 
had  run  for  office  so  often — pretty  often — 
and  had  been  defeated  several  times,  and 
she  cared  so  much  about  winning — more 
than  any  one  else,  and  she — well,  you  un- 
derstand, don't  you  ? — she  wanted  it  so 
much,  and  —  well  —  I  suspect  that  we 
elected  her  from  pity." 


Ill 


THE  GENIUS 

AND  this  one  is  the  Genius.  Different 
from  the  other  photographs,  is  n't  it  ? 
Most  of  my  college  friends  were  the 
sweetest  things.  What !  You  think  her 
beautiful  ?  With  that  high  forehead  and 
starved  sort  of  eyes  and  thin  face  !  Like 
Lepage's  Joan  of  Arc?  Joan  of  Arc— 
Bastien  Lepage — let  me  think — oh,  yes, 
now  I  remember — that  big  picture  in  the 
Metropolitan  Gallery !  A  girl  with  light 
blue  eyes  and  her  hand  stretched  out,  and 
with  her  clothes  not  well  made.  I  don't 
know ;  the  Genius  was  dark,  and — well, 
slimmer,  and  she  wore  her  hair  altogether 
different.  To  be  sure,  she  resembled 
Joan  in  the  countrified  way  she  dressed. 
You  see,  she  did  not  have  much  money. 
60 


The  Genius  61 

She  seemed  not  to  care  for  that,  however. 
In  fact,  she  did  not  care  for  anything  ex- 
cept her  bothersome  old  "  Ideals,"  and— 
oh,  yes — and  writing.  Why,  would  you 
believe  it? — she  'd  rather  write  any  day 
than  eat !  Perfectly  ridiculous  !  But  then, 
she  never  did  have  a  particle  of  common 
sense. 

You  wish  that  I  would  tell  you  about 
her  ?  I  love  to  talk  about  the  Genius ; 
people  are  always  so  interested.  I  fancy 
that  they  wonder  how  I  ever  managed  to 
get  along  with  her  for  a  whole  year.  She 
was  my  room-mate  at  college.  We  had 
two  of  the  dearest  rooms,  opening  into 
each  other,  with  four  windows  in  the 
larger.  That  was  mine — absolutely  dar- 
ling ! — embroidered  pillows  all  over  the 
couch,  and  easy-chairs,  and  a  tea-table 
(I  'm  awfully  sociable),  and  photographs 
stuck  up  everywhere  (sometimes  I  sus- 
pected that  the  Genius  was  envious  be- 
cause I  have  so  many  friends),  and  a 
border  of  posters  at  the  top  of  the  wall, 
and  signs  which  the  boys  procured  for  me 
in  town  when  they  came  up  for  the 


62  Vassar  Studies 

Founder's  Day  Reception,  and  banners — 
blue,  crimson,  orange  and  black,  and  so 
forth — and  a  fish-net  draped  over  the  door 
(I  am  simply  devoted  to  anything  aes- 
thetic!). The  Genius  took  the  little 
room — a  nightmare  !  positively  nothing  in 
it — so  that  she  could  go  in  and  shut  the 
door  when  I  had  company  in  the  other. 
She  was  a  regular  hermit,  and  so  peculiar 
that  I  found  it  a  terrible  nervous  strain  to 
live  with  her.  Actually  my  health  almost 
broke  down  after  the  mid-year  examina- 
tions ;  for  a  while  I  feared  that  I  might 
be  obliged  to  give  up  and  go  home ;  but  I 
contrived  to  struggle  on  until  June.  I 
often  think  that  I  might  have  been  strong 
enough  to  complete  the  course,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  Genius. 

For  instance,  during  the  first  week  of 
the  semester  before  the  Genius  came,  I 
had  the  loveliest  time  !  College  life  was 
not  the  least  bit  trying.  Some  of  the 
other  freshmen,  who  were  horribly  home- 
sick, used  to  come  into  my  room,  and  eat 
apples  and  preserved  ginger,  while  I 
played  "Home,  Sweet  Home"  on  my 


The  Genius  63 

zither.     They  would  sit  around   nibbling 
and  looking  sadder  and  sadder  until  the 

o 

tears  rushed  to  their  eyes,  and  they  cried 
with  their  faces  against  my  rose-and-gray 
couch-cover.  It  was  melancholy  for  me, 
but  it  did  them  ever  so  much  good.  You 
know  how  it  is — you  get  to  feeling  so 
sorry  for  yourself  when  you  hear  your  own 
sobs  that  it  distracts  your  mind.  After  the 
arrival  of  the  Genius,  the  girls  did  not  visit 
me  more  than  two  or  three  or,  maybe,  four 
times  a  day  each  one,  because  they  saw 
that  she  did  not  like  to  be  disturbed  dur- 
ing study  hours.  I  am  sure  that  they 
were  not  half  so  noisy  as  college  boys. 
Of  course,  it  was  hard  on  me,  because  I 
absolutely  need  social  intercourse  to  keep 
up  my  spirits  ;  I  grew  very  much  depressed 
—especially  in  the  morning  just  before 
going  to  the  first-hour  recitation  in  math- 
ematics—  and  consequently  found  the 
work  more  wearing  on  my  nerves. 
Honestly,  in  the  spring  my  appetite  be- 
gan to  fail,  and  I  felt  so  languid  that  I 
wanted  to  be  outdoors  all  day.  More- 
over, I  was  not  able  to  return  in  the  fall. 


64  Vassar  Studies 

The  Genius  did  not  go  back  either,  as  she 
had  hoped  ;  but — I  don't  know — I  think 
that  it  was  mostly  her  own  fault — a  sort 
of  retribution  or  discipline  or  something 
like  that,  you  know. 

Dear  me  !  I  have  not  told  you  about 
our  first  meeting.  She  did  not  arrive  un- 
til the  second  Saturday  just  before  dinner 
(she  was  always  late  to  everything — par- 
ticularly breakfast) ;  and  when  she  ap- 
peared at  my  door,  escorted  by  a  senior, 
I  was  curling  my  hair.  I  intended  to  let 
myself  down  gradually  to  a  Madonna-like 
coiffure  such  as  the  other  intellectual  girls 
wore.  By  the  way,  don't  you  think  that 
the  Venus  of  Milo  does  her  hair  pretty 
well,  front  view  ?  I  am  going  to  try  how 
it  suits  me  some  day.  Where  was  I  ? 
Oh,  yes,  when  that  senior  introduced  the 
Genius,  I  could  not  shake  hands — could 
I  ?  — while  the  tongs  were  all  twisted 
around  a  lock.  She  flushed  up — a  dark 
red,  not  a  becoming  blush  at  all — and  then, 
walking  over  to  a  window,  pushed  up  the 
sash  and  sat  on  the  ledge.  Cool,  was  n't  it  ? 
or  else  she  was  embarrassed.  I  think  it  is 


The  Genius  65 

selfish  to  be  shy.  Bashfulness  springs 
from  self-consciousness.  Is  n't  it  fascinat- 
ing to  dig  down  to  the  roots  of  ideas  ? 
Shallow  intellects  can  never  wrest  the 
highest  meaning  from  life.  Well,  as  soon 
as  I  saw  the  Genius,  I  perceived  instantly 
that  she  could  never  be  congenial  to  me. 
And  besides,  she  was  so  tall  and  thin  that 
she  made  me  have  the  effect  of  being  too 
well  rounded.  Of  course,  I  know  that 
the  ideal  of  friendship  is  "  two  souls  with 
but  a  single  thought ";  but  I  think  that 
there  ought  to  be  an  additional  stipulation 
concerning  height. 

While  she  sat  there  on  the  ledge,  I  was 
so  afraid  that  she  would  receive  the  impres- 
sion that  I  did  not  like  her,  that  I  began 
to  talk  as  fast  as  I  could  about  every- 
thing— the  table  fare  and  the  work  she 
would  have  to  make  up  and  the  rule  of 
sending  stupid  freshmen  home  if  they 
failed  in  too  many  examinations.  And 
what  do  you  suppose  ?  — here  is  gratitude 
for  you  !  — when  we  became  better  ac- 
quainted, she  said  that  at  first  she  thought 
that  I  was  a  frivolous  little  thing  without 


66  Vassar  Studies 

a  heart.  The  idea  of  me  being  frivolous  ! 
Why,  all  my  friends  here  at  home  con- 
sider me  a  regular  dig.  She  was  not  very 
keen  about  some  things.  For  my  part, 
I  never  confided  to  her  what  were  my 
views  of  her  character ;  I  believe  in  using 
tact. 

That  was  one  of  the  great  points  of 
dissimilarity  between  us — her  utter  lack 
of  reticence.  Before  a  week  had  passed, 
she  had  given  me  an  account  of  her  en- 
tire history.  Everybody  belonging  to 
her  was  dead,  and  she  had  been  teaching 
school  for  years  in  a  forsaken  New 
England  village  without  even  a  railway. 
She  had  always  wanted  to  go  to  a  college, 
or  somewhere,  so  as  to  cultivate  a  faculty 
she  had  for  writing  poetry  and  so  on  ;  but 
she  could  not  save  enough  money  from 
her  salary.  A  woman  living  near  (she 
looks  starved  in  her  picture,  just  like  the 
Genius)  did  not  have  any  one  else  to 
take  care  of,  and  she  believed  that  the 
Genius  possessed  wonderful  talent,  and  so 
offered  to  send  her  to  college.  She  did 
not  have  much  money  herself,  but  the 


The  Genius  67 

Genius  intended  to  pay  her  back  some 
time.  I  consider  that  the  Genius  was 
unappreciative ;  she  did  not  write  to  that 
woman  oftener  than  once  a  week,  and  I 
generally  wrote  home  three  times — count- 
ing postal  cards  and  notes  when  they 
sent  me  boxes  and  things.  The  Genius 
answered  my  expostulations  by  saying 
that  her  friend  preferred  that  she  should 
concentrate  her  energies  on  her  work. 

It  may  be  that  she  sincerely  judged 
herself  economical  in  the  expenditure  of 
energy.  Is  n't  it  comical  how  people  can 
hold  mistaken  ideas  concerning  them- 
selves? She  used  to  waste  whole  even- 
ings— squander  hours — in  listening  to  the 
organist  practising  in  the  darkened  chapel, 
or  in  leaning  from  a  window  to  gaze  at 
the  stars,  or,  curled  up  in  a  corner  of  the 
library,  in  reading  books  which  were  not 
prescribed  in  any  course.  And  then, 
sometimes,  just  when  I  was  ready  to  go 
to  sleep,  she  would  come  upstairs,  and  sit 
down  to  study  in  my  room  because  our 
drop-light  was  fastened  to  my  burner.  It 
would  not  have  been  polite  for  me  to 


68  Vassar  Studies 

complain,  so  I  would  merely  say  that  the 
air  was  bad,  and  throw  up  all  four  win- 
dows. After  a  few  minutes,  she  would 
shiver  and  look  vaguely  around,  and 
pretty  soon  she  would  sneeze,  and  then 
go  into  her  own  room. 

Do  you  wonder  that  I  found  it  a 
nervous  strain  to  live  with  her?  As 
another  illustration,  there  was  that  fuss 
which  she  made  when  her  first  essay 
was  returned,  marked  in  red  ink,  "  Re- 
write." She  put  me  in  a  fidget  by  lying 
on  her  bed,  face  downward,  all  the  after- 
noon. I  am  so  sensitive  that  such 
demonstrations  wear  me  out  through  the 
drain  on  my  sympathies.  About  twilight, 
getting  up,  she  said  that  she  had  decided 
to  go  home,  because  it  was  only  a  waste 
of  time  and  money  for  her  to  remain. 
Instantly  I  began  to  ponder  which  of  my 
congenial  friends  I  should  invite  to  room 
with  me.  Of  course,  I  was  sorry  for  her, 
but  sometimes  we  just  have  to  bow 
our  heads  to  fate.  Well,  while  she  was 
starting  to  pack,  I  happened  to  pick  up 
the  essay,  and  discovered  on  the  last  page 


The  Genius  69 

another  note  which  she  had  not  seen.  It 
said  that,  although  in  mechanical  execu- 
tion the  work  was  faulty,  in  power  of  con- 
ception and  treatment  it  was  far  above  the 
average.  That  girl  acted  half  crazy- 
danced  around  the  room,  flung  her  arms 
about  me,  and  kept  exclaiming  that  she 
was  too  happy  to  live.  Was  n't  it  ridic- 
ulous for  her  to  depend  so  entirely  upon 
another  person's  opinion  ?  Now,  as  for 
me,  I  knew  when  my  essays  were  good, 
although  generally  the  critic  did  not  like 
to  commit  herself. 

So  the  Genius  stayed  at  college,  and 
after  a  while  she  began  to  get  "  Ex- 
cellent" on  her  essays,  and  have  her 
stories  and  poems  printed  in  the  college 
magazine.  I  never  could  understand  how 
she  accomplished  anything  with  her 
peculiar  methods.  The  truth  is  that  she 
had  no  method.  After  wandering  around 
alone  in  the  Pines,  she  used  to  steal  away 
to  the  attic  to  write  behind  big  ghostly  tin 
pipes,  or,  in  the  spring,  to  the  orchard  or 
the  fields.  Nearly  every  Saturday — that 
was  our  day  for  writing  themes — I  was 


70  Vassar  Studies 

obliged  to  spend  a  long  time  in  looking 
for  her  to  tell  her  that  luncheon  was 
over.  Now,  when  I  wrote,  I  had  system. 
I  believe  that  if  you  take  plenty  of  nour- 
ishment and  recreation  your  intellect  will 
work  along  by  itself.  Unconscious  cere- 
bration, you  know.  That  is  science. 
And  another  point :  when  I  desired  to 
think  hard  I  always  laid  my  head  down 
on  my  desk  in  order  to  facilitate  the  flow 
of  ideas  to  the  brain.  Have  n't  you  ever 
noticed  it  in  church,  when  you  rest  your 
forehead  on  the  pew  in  front  ?  I  always 
worked  a  definite  time,  and  then  stopped. 
That  is  system.  One  thing  I  never  per- 
mitted myself  to  do — the  Genius  was  per- 
fectly conscienceless  regarding  it — and 
that  was,  to  skip  a  meal. 

As  a  result,  my  thoughts  were  clearer 
and  more  simple  than  those  of  the 
Genius.  My  handwriting  was  better  too. 
Hers  was  almost  illegible  ;  I  dare  say  that 
she  regarded  it  as  an  indication  of  origi- 
nality. Once  I  offered  to  copy  something 
for  her,  because  it  seemed  a  pity  to  have 
that  poem  scrawled — it  was  her  competi- 


The  Genius  71 

tive  poem  for  Founder's  Day,  and  it  was 
pretty  good,  and  I  was  anxious  that  she 
should  win  the  prize ; — she  snatched  the 
paper  away  as  if  my  touch  might  spoil  it. 
The  Genius  cared  considerably  for  that 
poem,  and  she  was  wild  to  have  it  chosen 
as  the  best  from  the  whole  college. 
That  friend  in  Maine  would  then  see  that 
she  had  not  been  mistaken  in  believing  in 
her.  It  would  be,  too — well,  a  sort  of  ad- 
vertisement of  ability.  The  reason  why  I 
wanted  her  to  win  was,  first,  of  course,  for 
her  own  sake,  and  then  so  that  I  might  be 
able  to  point  her  out  to  my  guests  as  my 
celebrated  room-mate.  You  know,  all  the 
boys  from  the  other  colleges  come  there 
on  Founder's  Day.  Think  of  the  glory 
of  having  your  own  poem  read  before  that 
great  audience !  At  one  time  I  intended 
to  try  for  the  prize  myself,  but  I  hap- 
pened to  be  too  busy  with  extra  work  the 
second  semester.  However,  I  was  so 
eager  that  the  Genius  should  win  that  I 
often  did  the  dusting  when  it  was  her 
turn,  so  that  she  might  have  more  time  to 
write.  And  in  spite  of  all  that,  to  behave 


72  Vassar  Studies 

the  way  she  did  !  It  was  criminal  ingrati- 
tude— of  course,  I  mean  toward  that 
woman  in  Maine. 

But  then,  I  suppose  I  should  not  have 
expected  anything  different.  She  was 
peculiar  all  the  way  through.  In  fact, 
she  was  abnormal.  That  year  was  aw- 
fully valuable  in  teaching  me  forbearance. 
There  was  her  habit  of  borrowing  things 
without  asking  permission.  I  know  that 
she  was  generous  with  her  own  property, 
but  she  did  not  have  very  much  anyhow, 
and — well,  how  would  you  like  to  go  to 
your  room  some  afternoon  and  find  your 
watch  and  fur  cape  and  alligator-skin 
pocket-book  with  silver  mountings,  and 
new  muff  of  white  fox  all  missing  ?  And 
then,  after  you  have  notified  the  author- 
ities and  telephoned  for  a  detective  and 
suggested  suspicions,  and  when  the  girls 
are  all  gathered  around  you,  looking  so 
scared  while  you  describe  strange  noises 
and  vanishing  figures — how  would  you 
enjoy  having  your  room-mate,  who  had 
been  in  town  all  day,  come  sauntering  in 
wearing  every  one  of  the  stolen  articles  ? 


The  Genius  73 

I  would  not  forgive  the  Genius  until  she 
coaxed  and  coaxed.  She  had  grown  pretty 
fond  of  me  by  that  time,  and  she  could 
not  bear  to  feel  that  I  was  displeased. 

Notwithstanding  that,  she  was  rather 
disagreeably  critical  at  times.  Why, 
would  you  believe  it  ? — she  maintained 
that  character-study  was  rude !  I  would 
scorn  to  be  impolite,  and  yet  I  had  the 
greatest  fun  studying  character  at  con- 
certs. My  friends  and  I  used  to  sit  in 
the  gallery  and  test  the  attention  of  in- 
dividuals in  the  audience  downstairs  by 
mesmerizing  them.  Judging  from  the 
frequency  with  which  they  glanced  up  at 
us,  I  surmise  that  few  of  them  truly  loved 
music.  The  Genius  always  listened  with 
her  eyes  shut.  It  made  her  conspicuous ; 
but  then,  she  never  paid  any  regard  to 
the  conventionalities.  I  am  very  particu- 
lar concerning  such  little  observances,  be- 
cause convention  is  crystallized  politeness, 
you  know. 

The  Genius  displayed  further  oddities 
in  her  choice  of  associates — all  the  queer- 
est girls  in  college,  when,  as  my  room- 


74  Vassar  Studies 

mate,  she  might  have  been  often  with  my 
set.  It  was  one  of  her  companions  who 
remarked  that  I  appeared  to  be  gifted 
with  an  appreciation  of  the  humorous  in 
music.  I  never  cared  what  such  girls 
said.  One  of  her  friends  was  so  absent- 
minded  that  she  kept  forgetting  to  bow 
to  people.  The  Genius  was  forever  go- 
ing off  with  her  to  see  the  sunset.  An- 
other eccentric  creature,  who  usually 
stood  around  in  corners  at  receptions, 
frequently  invited  the  Genius  to  stand 
with  her.  I  think  that  it  was  a  pose  with 
both  of  them — imitation  of  the  Spectator, 
you  know.  She  furthermore  indulged  in 
a  similarly  conspicuous  and  crazy  custom 
in  the  spring  of  tearing  off  over  the  fields 
to  the  woods  every  afternoon,  coming 
back  long  after  dinner-time  with  her  arms 
full  of  rubbish.  I  often  carried  bread 
and  milk  up  to  our  rooms  for  her,  and 
generally  she  would  toss  away  the  milk 
so  as  to  put  flowers  in  the  glass — just 
common  wild  flowers. 

The  most  bothersome   part,   however, 
of  her  ridiculous  conduct  lay  in  her  insane 


The  Genius  75 

ideals  and  theories  of  how  she  ought  to 
treat  other  people.  To  see  her  attempt- 
ing to  carry  her  principles  into  practice 
almost  threw  me  into  nervous  prostration. 
To  find  out  that  she  has  been  taking  care 
of  a  student  who  afterward  proves  to 
have  been  coming  down  with  the  scarlet 
fever,  and  I  had  never  had  it  myself !  To 
watch  her  rowing  loads  of  ragamuffins 
over  the  lake  when  there  were  few  enough 
boats  for  the  girls !  To  be  scolded  for 
demanding  proper  service  from  the  table- 
maids,  when  I  am  positive  that  I  should 
not  grow  tired,  even  if  I  had  been  ironing 
all  day,  provided  I  had  been  brought  up 
to  that  occupation  !  And,  worst  of  all,  to 
learn  that  she  has  given  away  to  the 
newsboys  in  town  all  that  delicious  maple 
sugar  sent  by  the  woman  in  Maine ! 
Why,  I  'd  have  been  willing  to  buy  it 
from  her,  and  pay  her  enough  so  that  she 
could  get  the  dark  brown  kind  for  the 
poor  children.  The  quality  was  utterly 
wasted  upon  their  indiscriminate  palates. 
I  regard  that  proceeding  as  a  slight  to 
her  friend.  But  then,  the  Genius  never 


76  Vassar  Studies 

appeared  to  pay  much  attention  to  her 
wishes  anyway,  especially  in  that  affair  of 
the  poem. 

If  only  she  had  behaved  with  common 
sense  about  that  competition,  I  should 
have  been  too  perfectly  happy  on  that 
Founder's  Day.  As  it  was,  I  had  a 
splendid  time.  I  had  three  guests — the 
best-looking  men  I  knew,  because  the 
girls  grow  so  critical  during  the  weeks  of 
college  seclusion  that  they  form  exalted 
ideals  of  manly  beauty.  Was  n't  it  fun  to 
walk  down  the  chapel  aisle  with  one  man 
beside  me  and  two  following,  while  the 
girls  without  guests  leaned  over  from  the 
gallery  to  watch  us !  I  wore  the  sweetest 
new  gown — pale  yellow  trimmed  with  fur 
around  the  neck,  cut  low — the  kind  that 
keeps  looking  as  if  it  were  going  to  slip 
off  your  shoulders.  I  pinned  on  all  the 
violets  which  the  boys  sent  me.  The 
Genius  wanted  me  to  leave  two  of 
the  bunches  in  water,  but  that  would 
have  been  impolite  to  the  givers,  and 
besides  they  would  not  have  made  such  a 
show. 


The  Genius  77 

My  men  told  me  that  they  had  never 
enjoyed  a  more  delightful  evening.  I  had 
filled  their  programmes  with  the  names 
of  the  prettiest  girls  in  my  class,  because 
I  was  anxious  that  the  college  should 
make  a  good  impression.  I  did  not  ask 
the  Genius  for  a  number ;  you  see,  she 
could  not  dance.  But  I  did  intend  to 
have  them  meet  her  sometime — maybe 
the  next  day.  Somehow  I  could  not 
bring  it  about  conveniently.  Perhaps 
she  did  not  care  very  much ;  she  was  feel- 
ing disappointed  about  the  poem. 

What  about  the  poem  ?  Well,  it  was 
this  way.  At  first,  she  wanted  awfully  to 
win  the  prize,  and  she  wrote  a  poem — it 
was  the  one  I  offered  to  copy.  It  was 
pretty  good,  and  everybody  who  heard  it 
said  that  no  other  student  could  do  so 
well.  The  Genius  was  always  reading 
her  writings  to  me  or  to  some  one  else  ;  it 
seemed  as  if  she  craved  sympathy  too 
much.  I  should  not  wonder  if  she  had— 
well,  you  know,  starved  for  it  since  her 
family  died.  She  kept  their  pictures  in 
her  room  on  the  table  where  she  wrote. 


78  Vassar  Studies 

They  were  rather  country-looking  people, 
but  I  dare  say  she  was  fond  of  them. 

Where  was  I  ?  Oh,  yes,  the  Genius 
had  written  the  poem,  and  we  were  all 
certain  that  it  would  be  chosen  for  the 
exercises  on  Founder's  Day.  I  had  even 
asked  her  to  give  me  the  original  manu- 
script for  my  "  Memory  Bill,"  and  what  do 
you  suppose  ?  — the  very  evening  before 
the  competition  was  to  close,  she  came  in 
after  moping  around  all  day,  and  said 
that  she  had  decided  not  to  submit  her 
poem.  I  begged  and  implored  and 
pleaded  and  teased,  but  she  would  not 
budge  an  inch.  She  was  so  stubborn  that 
she  absolutely  refused  to  listen  to  my 
arguments.  She  kept  saying  that  what 
was  right,  was  right.  I  don't  know — it 
seems  to  me  that  sometimes  it  depends 
on  the  circumstances. 

After  the  prize  had  been  awarded,  I 
gave  her  no  rest  until  she  told  me  why 
she  had  withdrawn.  She  had  discovered 
that  the  competitor  who  was  considered 
to  have  the  next  best  chance — a  scrawny 
little  sophomore  with  a  comical  fashion  of 


The  Genius  79 

wearing  her  hair  in  four  ringlets  falling 
from  a  twist — wanted  to  win  so  as  to 
please  her  mother.  As  she  had  never  had 
anything  printed,  or  received  any  encour- 
agement like  that,  she  was  building  great 
hopes  on  this  chance.  And  so  the  Genius 
thought  it  incumbent  upon  herself  to 
remove  the  obstacle  of  her  own  poem. 
Was  n't  she  simple  !  She  did  not  appear 
to  give  the  slightest  weight  to  the  claims 
of  that  woman  in  Maine,  or  to  my  wishes. 
Perhaps  she  sincerely  thought  that  she 
was  acting  from  principle ;  but  I  am  cer- 
tain that  it  was  mere  feeling.  It  was  be- 
cause this  other  girl  was  doing  it  to  please 
her  mother. 

Did  the  other  girl  win  ?  Oh,  no,  the 
prize  went  to  some  senior  whom  nobody 
had  suspected  of  being  a  poet.  The 
Genius  did  not  say  much  on  the  evening 
when  the  result  was  announced  in  chapel. 
She  went  into  her  room,  and  locked  the 
door.  It  was  rather  rude,  don't  you  think 
so  ?  I  would  not  have  disturbed  her,  if 
she  had  wanted  to  look  at  her  photographs 
all  night. 


8o  Vassar  Studies 

Why,  dear  me !  must  you  go  so  soon  ? 
You  have  scarcely  been  here  at  all,  and 
you  have  not  told  me  a  word  of  news. 
Where  is  the  Genius  now?  Oh,  I  am 
under  the  impression  that  she  is  teaching 
somewhere  in  the  wilds  of  New  England. 
I  have  lost  track  of  her  since  hearing  that 
she  could  not  return  to  college  on  account 
of  the  death  of  her  friend.  I  doubt  if  she 
ever  accomplishes  anything  in  literature. 
Her  methods  are  so  peculiar,  you  know, 
and  she  has  such  queer  ideas.  Very 
likely  she  objects  to  the  element  of  com- 
petition in  the  struggle  for  existence,  and 
in  a  starving  business  like  that,  of  course, 
she  would  have  no  chance  for  survival. 
Well,  I  don't  know — perhaps  it  is  all  for 
the  best.  Oh,  yes,  no  doubt  she  was  a 
genius ;  but  then,  she  never  did  have  a 
particle  of  common  sense. 


IV 
HEROIC  TREATMENT 

THE  gaslight  in  the  gymnasium  was 
just  bright  enough  to  illuminate  without 
crudity  the  lower  portion  of  the  lofty 
apartment,  while  leaving  the  rafters  in 
picturesque  obscurity.  It  was  the  night 
of  the  Hallow-e'en  revel — a  rustic  ball 
given  to  the  freshmen  by  the  seniors. 
Girls  everywhere  !  Maidens,  wearing  cal- 
ico gowns  and  scoop  bonnets,  were  frol- 
icking with  suspiciously  fair-faced  farmer 
lads,  in  overalls  and  flapping  straw  hats, 
through  an  intricate  and  original  dance, 
of  which  the  principal  features  appeared 
to  consist  of  "  Swing  your  partner,"  and 
"Sashay,  everybody!"  Rosy  -  cheeked 
grandmothers,  playing  chaperon  with 
prim  gray  curls  under  wonderful  caps, 

Si 


82  Vassar  Studies 

were  constantly  deserting  their  posts  to 
frisk  through  a  dance  at  the  request  of 
fierce,  long-haired  cowboys,  sombrero  in 
hand ;  and  artless  Gretchens,  with  muslin 
kerchiefs  and  flying  braids,  whirled  about 
in  the  arms  of  gayly  plumed  Indians,  or 
visited  the  dusky  booths  where  bent 
witches  mumbled  fortunes  from  under 
tangled  black  locks. 

Having  run  up  from  New  York  for  a 
day  at  the  college,  I  had  slipped  over  to 
the  gymnasium,  eager  for  a  glimpse  of 
the  well-remembered  merriment.  As  I 
stood  in  the  doorway  the  remarkably 
handsome  young  farmer  who  was  calling 
off  the  dance  waved  her  baton  in  gay 
welcome.  During  a  pause  between  num- 
bers, when  the  attentive  swains,  having 
raided  sundry  tall  cans  of  lemonade,  shiny 
new  dish-pans  full  of  peanuts,  and  a  bar- 
rel of  apples,  were  hovering  about  their 
sweethearts,  in  mimic  masculine  devotion 
fanning  them  with  big  hats  plucked  off 
for  the  purpose,  the  leader  came  thread- 
ing her  way  through  hilarious  groups  to  a 
seat  at  my  side. 


Heroic  Treatment  83 

"  Is  n't  it  fun  ! "  she  exclaimed,  with 
color  glowing  and  dark  eyes  shining. 

Looking  at  her  as  she  sat  on  the  lower 
step  of  a  ladder,  in  rough  blue  jeans,  with 
a  scarlet  necktie  askew  under  a  negligee 
collar,  and  a  rather  battered  straw  hat 
pushed  back  on  her  classic  head,  I  thought 
of  the  picture  she  had  made  the  preceding 
week,  in  a  box  at  the  Metropolitan,  wear- 
ing a  low-cut  gown  of  ivory  satin. 

"  Is  it  more  fun  than  grand  opera?"  I 
asked. 

"  Grand  opera  is  not  fun,"  she  an- 
swered, "  it  is  pleasure.  And  the  differ- 
ence between  fun  and  pleasure— 

"  Pleasure  plus  a  mirthful  atmos- 
phere— 

"  Yes,  the  difference  lies  in  atmosphere. 
Here  there  is  a  light-hearted  joyousness, 
arising  from  the  presence  of  so  many 
young,  irresponsible  creatures — 

"  Don't  call  them  irresponsible." 

"  I  know  that  some  of  them  are  trying 
to  carry  the  world  on  their  shoulders,  but 
to-night  they  are  all  children.  Are  n't 
they  enjoying  it!" 


84  Vassar  Studies 

"  No  one  need  be  a  wall-flower." 

"  No  envying,  no  jealousy,  no  vanity. 
Give  me  a  roomful  of  girls  as  a  recipe  for 
fun." 

"  Who  is  that  little  thing  dressed  like  a 
baby,  with  the  big  eyes  and  lace  hood  and 
long  white  frock  ? "  I  inquired  as  a 
young  girl  passed  with  a  shy  glance  at 
Rachel. 

"That—?  Oh"— Rachel  had  bowed 
graciously,  and  with  an  expression  sug- 
gesting uneasiness  was  watching  the 
ingenuous  face  light  up  happily  with  a 
smile  and  quick  blush — "  that  is  a  little 
friend  of  mine.  Well,  no,  not  exactly  a 
friend ;  she  is  one  of  the  freshmen." 

"And-    -?" 

Rachel  was  following  the  pretty  figure 
with  a  disquieted  gaze.  "  Hero  worship 
is  good  for  boys — a  shoulder-to-shoulder, 
healthy  admiration ;  and  it  need  not  hurt 
the  normal  girl  who  keeps  her  nerves 
steady  with  bicycle  and  basket-ball.  But 
this  child  is  the  dreamy  kind ;  she  is 
wasting  her  energies  in  thinking  about 
me." 


Heroic  Treatment  85 

"  Does  she  know  you  ?" 

"  Only  superficially,  not  enough  to  feel 
any  genuine  affection.  It  is  pleasant  to 
be  liked,  but  it  is  uncomfortable  to  be 
idealized.  And  it  is  dangerous  for  her. 
She  is  very  young  yet.  Oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon  !  Have  n't  you  had  refreshments  ? 
You  shall  have  a  gallon  of  red  lemonade." 


When  next  I  visited  the  college,  I  found 
the  seniors  gathered  in  their  softly  lighted 
parlor  for  the  distribution  of  valentines. 
On  the  chairs,  on  the  window-ledges,  on 
the  floor,  everywhere,  were  girls  in  dainty 
light  gowns,  with  eager  faces  and  tongues 
busily  exclaiming,  while  the  class  presi- 
dent, standing  by  a  deep  basket  which  over- 
flowed with  white  envelopes  of  every  size, 
was  reading  the  address  on  each.  When 
the  chatter  and  flutter  and  laughter  over 
bright  verses  tossed  to  and  fro  had  begun 
to  subside,  as  the  girls  drifted  out  into  the 
corridor,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Rachel 
walking  slowly  toward  her  own  room. 
Noticing  that  her  hands  were  filled  with 


86  Vassar  Studies 

valentines,  I  asked  if  she  had  received 
any  from  the  little  freshman. 

Her  eyes  clouded.  "The  child  has 
sent  me  seven,"  she  answered,  "  and  each 
one  means  a  dissipation  of  time  and 
thought  and  energy  in  the  writing.  It  is 
wrong." 

"  Hero  worship  still  ?  " 

"Yes,  admiration,  imitation 

"  That  is  not  bad." 

"  Ah,  but  add  emotionalization.  She 
cannot  think  of  anything  else  while  I  am 
in  sight — at  least,  that  is  what  she  says. 
She  blushes  when  I  speak  to  her,  and 
mopes  when  I  forget  to  smile." 

"  What  remedies  have  you  tried  ?  " 

"  Expostulation — that  she  has  great 
ability,  and  such  an  abnormal,  unnatural 
feeling  must  hinder  the  growth  of  that 
ability ;  that  she  should  keep  her  heart 
and  soul  open  only  to  the  actual  and  to 
the  real." 

"  I  never  suspected  you  of  anything 
like  that." 

"  Well " — Rachel  made  a  wry  face — "  it 
was  not  easy.  And  after  all,  it  accom- 


Heroic  Treatment  87 

plished  nothing  except  to  give  her  an  op- 
portunity to  explain  how  any  one  can  be 
a  'lover  of  the  beautiful  without  loss  of 
manliness.'  Oh,  me ! "  with  a  long  sigh 
at  the  recollection,  "and  then  I  essayed 
the  effect  of  ridicule,  and  she  withdrew 
into  herself,  brooding  in  an  introspective 
way  she  has,  and  haunting  me  with  big 
hurt-looking  eyes.  Now  I  am  practising 
indifference  ;  I  ignore  her." 

"  And  the  result—    -  ?  " 

Rachel  held  up  the  packet  of  verses. 
"  I  have  her  on  my  conscience  because  I 
was  really  very  nice  to  her  at  first  before 
she  took  it  into  her  head  to  fall  down  and 
worship." 

"  Why  not  encourage  her  to  become 
acquainted  with  you  as  you  actually  are?" 

Rachel  looked  amazed.  "  Would  n't 
that  make  her  worse  ?  " 

" '  Visual  familiarity,  oral  strangeness 
—the  great  aids  to  idealization  in  love,' " 
I  quoted. 

"  And  you  think  that  it  might  cure  her 
to  discover  that  I  am  not  what  she  fancies 
me  to  be  ? " 


88  Vassar  Studies 

"You  might  experiment." 

Rachel  stared  at  me  solemnly  for  a 
full  minute.  At  last,  "  I  shall  certainly 
try  it,"  she  said. 


At  the  end  of  the  following  month,  I 
was  again  at  the  college  for  the  last  hall 
play  of  the  year.  As  Rachel  was  chair- 
man of  the  committee,  I  saw  her  only  for 
a  hurried  greeting  in  the  dining-room, 
and  later  on  in  momentary  glimpses  of  a 
flushed  face  at  stage  doors.  After  the 
curtain  had  fallen  on  the  last  scene,  there 
was  a  fluttering  of  students  toward  the 
greenroom  to  besiege  the  actors  with 
ecstatic  congratulations — kisses  and  ex- 
cited laughter.  Rachel  as  manager  re- 
ceived her  share,  standing  tall  and 
handsome  in  the  centre  of  an  exulting 
cluster.  She  came  down  into  the  audi- 
torium with  the  little  freshman  stepping  ra- 
diantly beside  her.  The  child  impressed  me 
as  shyly  well-bred,  although  once  or  twice 
she  betrayed  abstraction  by  failing  to  re- 
ply to  several  remarks  which  I  addressed 


Heroic  Treatment  89 

to  her.  The  frankly  admonitory  manner 
in  which  Rachel  called  her  attention  to 
the  oversight  indicated  that  a  degree  of 
intimacy  had  already  been  attained. 

Later,  when  Rachel  and  I  were  alone 
together — Rachel  brewing  chocolate  at 
her  tea-table  and  I  at  ease  in  a  basket- 
willow  chair — I  opened  the  subject. 
"Well?" 

My  companion  glanced  up  quickly. 
"  You  should  have  seen  her  stare  when  I 
sneezed." 

"  Now,  Rachel,"  reprovingly. 

Rachel  was  lifting  the  kettle  lid  to 
watch  for  boiling  bubbles.  "  She  did  not 
like  it  to-night  when  the  girls  came  around 
to  congratulate  me  ;  she  turned  away  her 
eyes." 

"  Anything  set  upon  a  pedestal  ought 
to  be  out  of  reach." 

"  I  no  longer  discuss  fashion — except 
when  she  is  out  of  ear-shot ;  and  as  for 
slang,  she  is  better  than  a  system  of  fines. 
I  don't  play  shinney-on-the-ice  any  more. 
I  used  to  hippity-hop  down  the  corridors 
when  nobody  was  looking,  but  she  has 


90  Vassar  Studies 

an  unfortunate  habit  of  unexpected 
appearances." 

"  Does  she  venture  any  criticism  ?  " 

"  That  depends  on  your  definition  of  the 
word.  But  —  she  watched  me  once  march 
my  best  friend  up-stairs  by  the  ear.  And 
I  saw  her  face." 

"  She  seems  devoted  still." 

"Clinging  to  hope.  However,  I  have 
great  expectations  that  she  will  succumb 
when  she  notices  how  crookedly  I  pin  my 
collar.  Sometimes  I  invite  her  to  my 
table  for  dinner  —  not  often,  though,  for  I 
am  pretty  hungry  nowadays." 

"Has  she  ceased  to  dedicate  verses  to 
you  ?  " 

"  She  has  taken  to  prose." 

"  Excellent  !  " 

Rachel  was  pouring  the  chocolate  ;  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  mine.  "  I  wish  —  "  she 
began. 

"  What  ?  "  I  inquired. 

But  Rachel  did  not  answer. 


Founder's    Day,    several    weeks    later, 


Heroic  Treatment  91 

tempted  me  to  the  college  for  the  fourth 
time  that  year.  All  the  morning  the 
Main  Building  was  throbbing  with  prepa- 
rations for  the  reception  of  the  evening. 
Girls  were  everywhere — some  furnishing 
the  ordinarily  bare  corridors  with  rugs 
and  divans,  chairs  and  cushions ;  others 
adorning  the  parlors  with  flowers,  draping 
curtains,  and  arranging  artistic  nooks ; 
still  others  were  banking  palms  and 
ferns  in  the  entrance-hall  and  on  the 
platform  in  chapel,  or  directing  the  dis- 
posal of  sculpture  brought  over  from  the 
Hall  of  Casts.  Rachel,  in  demand,  as 
usual,  for  her  executive  ability,  was  super- 
intending the  process  of  clearing  the 
great  dining-room  for  dancing.  At  one 
time  I  spied  the  little  freshman  standing 
in  the  doorway  with  her  arms  full  of  wild 
cherry  blossoms  for  the  decorations. 
Her  eyes  were  seeking  Rachel,  who  just 
then,  having  twisted  her  head  to  get  the 
effect  of  the  rose  and  gray  drapery  being 
twined  about  the  pillars,  was  unmistaka- 
bly squinting.  The  child  turned  away 
with  a  wistful  trouble  in  her  face. 


92  Vassar  Studies 

That  evening,  as  I  was  sitting  among 
the  groups  on  the  staircase,  watching  the 
panorama  of  shifting  clusters  and  couples 
which  thronged  the  halls  and  parlors  be- 
low, Rachel's  small  admirer  slipped  shyly 
into  a  place  beside  me.  She  did  not 
speak  much,  seemingly  absorbed  in  the 
changing  play  of  color,  light,  and  move- 
ment, and  wooed  to  silence  by  the  music 
of  a  waltz.  Presently  I  found  myself  fol- 
lowing her  glances  through  portieres  to 
Rachel,  holding  court  in  a  corner  of  the 
first  reception  room.  She  looked  un- 
usually radiant — apparently  inspired  to 
a  pitch  of  becoming  vivacity  by  the  circle 
of  admiring  masculine  faces. 

My  companion  was  surveying  the  scene 
with  an  expression  of  vague  discomfort. 
Finally  she  murmured,  half  to  herself, 
"  I  wish  that  people  did  not  care  for 
admiration." 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Maybe  it  is  because  " — 
she  looked  up  at  me  almost  pleadingly — 
"it  suggests  vanity." 

"  Everybody  desires  to  please." 


Heroic  Treatment  93 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  Then  after  a  pause, 
"  Did  you  ever  see  the  Juno  Ludovisi?" 

Recalling  that  face  of  magnificent  dis- 
dain, I  glanced  toward  Rachel  glowing 
with  the  pleasure  of  the  moment.  "  Yes, 
I  have  seen  her,"  I  replied.  "  Why  do 
you  ask  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing." 

A  few  minutes  passed  wordlessly. 
Then  a  low-voiced  comment :  "  The  men 
seem  worried,  and  some  of  the  girls  are 
thinking  about  how  they  look." 

I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Rachel  holding 
her  head  high  as  she  swept  into  the  danc- 
ing room  with  the  consciousness  of  many 
eyes  upon  her. 

"  It  requires  a  strong  nature  to  endure, 
without  detriment,  the  possession  of  phys- 
ical beauty,"  I  ventured. 

"  It  requires  a  stronger  nature  to  en- 
dure the  lack  of  it."  The  girl  was  leaning 
her  cheek  against  the  banisters  with  a 
tired  sigh.  "  I  have  been  wondering  if 
moods  are  a  sign  of  weakness — I  mean, 
yielding  to  moods.  Strength  is  superior 
to  elation  or  depression." 


94  Vassar  Studies 

I  remembered  occasional  unsmiling  peri- 
ods in  the  history  of  Rachel's  days.  "  How 
about  Cleopatra's  'infinite  variety'?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  never  thought  of  it  in 
that  light.  Only — I  never  exactly  ad- 
mired Cleopatra  as  an  ideal  character." 

Again  a  silence,  dreamily  listening  to 
the  music  and  pleasing  our  eyes  with  the 
gliding  scene  below.  Gradually  I  be- 
came aware  of  a  subtle  change  stealing 
over  the  little  freshman — an  expectant 
stiffening  of  posture  and  a  conscious  ex- 
pression in  her  eyes.  Rachel,  on  her  way 
up-stairs  with  a  cavalier,  paused  for  a 
word.  "  Everything  is  going  off  beauti- 
fully. The  floor  is  much  better  than  last 
time,  and  there  is  not  such  a  crowd. 
Don't  the  girls  look  pretty !  Loveliest 
gowns  !  Oh,  see  there  below  the  clock  !— 
that  ridiculous  red  Mother-Hubbard  !  In- 
tended for  an  Empire,  presumably.  What 
a  specimen ! " 

After  Rachel  had  passed  on,  the  child 
spoke  softly  :  "I  know  that  girl  in  red. 
She  thinks  the  gown  is  beautiful ;  she 
helped  her  mother  make  it." 


Heroic  Treatment  95 

She  sat  with  her  chin  resting  on 
her  hand,  her  eyes  wide  open,  gazing 
at  nothing.  "  Maybe  we  would  not 
make  fun  of  anything  if  we  understood 
everything." 

Later,  "  Somebody  told  me  that  it  is  a 
mistake  to  idealize  anybody,  but  suppose 
that  she  really  is  an  ideal  character— 

Another  stillness  ;  then,  "  I  wish  that  I 
understood  everything." 


Not  until  Commencement  week  did  I 
yield  to  the  indulgence  of  another  visit  to 
the  college.  Reaching  the  ground  in  time 
to  witness  the  Monday  morning  game  of 
basket-ball,  played  for  the  edification  of 
the  alumnae  who  had  graduated  before 
the  advent  of  that  entertaining  pastime — 
or  shall  I  say  pursuit? — I  was  invited  to 
share  the  protection  of  Rachel's  parasol. 
The  scene  was  one  of  those  most  distinc- 
tively characteristic  of  the  place — a  broad 
sweep  of  level  lawn  hemmed  in  partly  by 
the  curving  gardens  backed  by  shadowy 
pines  and  hemlocks,  firs  and  spruces,  and 


96  Vassar  Studies 

partly  by  a  semicircle  of  tall  yew  hedge. 
Ranged  over  one  of  the  grassy  courts 
were  the  players  in  the  dark  blue 
gymnasium  suits  with  bright-hued  neck- 
ties and  collars.  The  spectators  formed 
gay  clusters  of  color  here  and  there. 
Overhead  arched  the  blue  sky,  softening 
mistily  above  the  evergreens. 

Among  the  players  who  had  been  en- 
listed promiscuously  from  the  different 
classes,  I  noticed  the  little  freshman,  fair 
with  orange  tie  and  ribbon  on  flying 
braids,  skipping  gracefully  through  a  few 
waltzing  steps  while  awaiting  the  signal 
for  the  game  to  begin.  At  Rachel's 
beckoning  gesture,  she  came  bounding 
lightly  toward  us. 

After  a  blithe  welcome  to  me,  and 
bright  fun  bandied  with  my  companion, 
she  exclaimed,  "  Now  you  must  both 
shout  for  my  side,  and  help  us  win." 

"  I  will  cheer  for  you,"  I  promised,  "  but 
I  suspect  that  Rachel  won't.  The  seniors 
are  to  play  against  you,  and  she  is  too 
loyal  not  to  shout  for  them." 

"  Then  she  must  shout  for  both  sides," 


Heroic  Treatment 


97 


laughed  the  little  freshman,  slipping  an 
arm  around  Rachel  and  tilting  her  pretty 
head  contentedly  up  at  me,  "  because,  you 
see,  we  're  friends." 


V. 

THE   CAREER  OF  A  RADICAL. 

MARION  tried  not  to  hear  the  sudden 
burst  of  applause — hand-clapping  and 
girlish  shrieks  of  inarticulate  delight- 
softened  by  distance  to  a  joyous  shrill 
commotion.  The  professor  rose  to  shut 
the  transom,  while  the  score  of  seniors 
around  the  long  green-covered  table 
seemed  to  draw  deeper  breaths.  A  flash 
leaped  into  eyes  here  and  there  travelling 
swiftly  with  an  apprehensive  smile ; 
one  or  two  of  the  girls  moved  restlessly 
in  their  seats ;  some  fingered  fountain-pens 
or  snapped  elastics  on  packets  of  notes ; 
others  sat  unnaturally  still  with  a  gaze 
carefully  lowered.  After  an  interval  of 
silence,  came  more  faintly  the  murmur  of 
another  expanding  uproar.  The  pro- 
98 


The  Career  of  a  Radical        99 

fessor,  resuming  her  place  in  the  great 
easy  chair,  hospitable  with  its  quaint 
height  of  back  and  arms,  said,  "  If  you 
please,  Miss  Roddis,  we  will  go  on  with 
the  report,"  and  Marion  shuffled  her 
notes  hastily  to  find  the  summarized  re- 
sults of  recent  study.  When  she  was 
speaking,  the  members  of  the  class  sat 
with  eyes  politely  resting  on  her  face 
while  their  thoughts  went  roving  at  every 
recurrent  swell  of  muffled  exultation. 

It  had  been  whispered  throughout  the 
college  on  the  afternoon  of  that  March 
Monday  that  the  announcement  of  senior 
honors  would  be  made  that  night.  The 
honor  list  comprised  the  names  of  all 
seniors  who  had  maintained  a  certain 
standard  of  scholarship  during  the  four 
years.  As  the  students  were  never  in- 
formed of  their  marks  in  recitation  or  ex- 
amination, except  in  case  of  failure  to  pass 
in  a  subject,  there  was  always  wide  scope 
for  speculation  concerning  the  possibili- 
ties of  the  announcement.  For  some 
weeks  before  the  decisive  evening,  daily 
chatter  in  the  upper  classes  found  absorb- 


ioo  Vassar  Studies 

ing  interest  in  assorting  the  seniors  into 
groups  of  those  who  were  "  sure  to  get  an 
honor,"  those  who  were  only  "  probabili- 
ties," and  those  who  "ought  to  get  one," 
but  undoubtedly  would  not  be  distin- 
guished in  that  way. 

After  Chapel,  though  many  students 
belonging  to  the  evening  history  class 
loitered  about  the  senior  parlor  in 
hopes  that  the  messenger  with  the  list 
would  arrive  before  time  for  recitation, 
Marion  had  marched  unswervingly  to  the 
professor's  room.  She  knew  that  she  was 
numbered  among  the  ''probabilities."  At 
the  first  sound  of  applause  she  could  not 
keep  herself  from  stiffening  nervously,  al- 
though, when  she  saw  the  girl  opposite  mis- 
chievously framing  with  her  lips  the  word, 
"congratulations,"  she  had  turned  away 
her  face  unsmilingly.  For  Marion  did 
not  believe  in  the  honor  system.  And 
Marion's  beliefs,  or  disbeliefs,  invariably 
affected  her  actions. 

Throughout  the  creeping  hour  the 
professor  calmly  conducted  the  discus- 
sion, apparently  heedless  of  cheeks  flush- 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       101 

ing  into  a  slow  glow  under  repressed 
excitement,  and  eyes  beginning  to  burn  in 
elaborately  indifferent  faces.  There  was 
a  basket  of  growing  ferns  upon  the  table, 
and  Marion  remembered  long  afterward 
just  how  a  spray  of  maiden-hair  drooped 
over  the  edge  and  a  frond  of  sword-fern 
hung  broken  half  way. 

For  an  instant  prolonged  politely  after 
"  I  think  that  is  all  for  to-night,"  the  girls 
sat  quiet  in  painfully  easy  attitudes. 
Then,  without  haste,  they  began  to 
gather  up  pens  and  notes,  moving  back 
their  chairs  leisurely,  and  lingering  to 
look  at  book  or  picture  or  curious  me- 
mento of  foreign  lands,  before  turning 
to  catch  a  good-night  nod  and  smile  from 
the  professor. 

Finally,  some  one  of  them  reached  the 
door  and  opened  it,  and  they  were  pass- 
ing laggingly  in  ones  and  twos  out  into 
the  corridor.  An  instant's  peace,  and 
then  a  dash  from  around  the  corner,  and 
a  swoop,  and  clutches  of  arms  about  three 
or  four  with,  "  You  're  on  it !  You  're  on 
it ! "  and  a  rustling  tumult  and  a  crowd- 


102  Vassar  Studies 

ing  round  the  news-bringers  with,  "  Who  ?" 
and  "  How  many  ?"  and  "  Is  it  so-and-so  ?" 

Marion  disentangled  herself  in  stern 
silence,  while  some  one's  joyous  voice  at 
her  ear  was  exclaiming,  "  And  you  are 
one  of  the  Commencement  speakers 
too  ! "  Without  a  responsive  glance,  she 
walked  swiftly  away.  Some  of  her  friends 
who  had  come  running  after  her  with 
congratulations  fell  back,  chilled  and  em- 
barrassed. In  her  progress  down  the 
corridor,  every  alley-way  was  an  ambus- 
cade whence  issued  reinforcements  ex- 
clamatory with  good  will. 

At  the  main  staircase,  a  group  stand- 
ing with  arms  over  shoulders  around  a 
girl  with  shining  eyes  and  smiling  lips, 
fell  upon  Marion  and  drew  her  into  the 
circle.  The  one  in  the  centre  took  her 
limp  hand,  clinging  to  it  as  if  wistful  for 
all  sympathy.  Just  then  some  one  passed 
rapidly  by  without  looking  toward  them, 
and  Marion,  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  face 
set  in  lines  of  bitter  disappointment, 
heard  a  whispered  comment,  "  Everybody 
was  certain  that  she  would  get  an  honor." 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       103 

Marion  turned  sharply  upon  them. 
"  Girls,"  her  voice  quivered  from  its 
strained  pitch,  "  oh,  girls,  it  's  the  injus- 
tice of  it ! "  and  she  was  hurrying  on  to 
her  own  room  alone. 

Pinned  all  over  her  door  were  notes  of 
congratulation.  With  one  sweep  of  her 
arm  she  was  brushing  them  off,  when  she 
heard  quick  steps  turning  into  the  alcove. 

"  Marion,  some  of  the  '  honor  girls '  are 
going  to  telegraph  the  news  home.  If 
you  wish  to  do  so,  send  word  to  the 
messenger  room  before  ten  o'clock." 

Marion  did  not  even  say  "  Thank  you." 
"  I  intend,"  and  her  tones  were  biting, 
"  that  they  shall  never  hear  of  it  at 
home."  As  she  spoke,  there  flashed  be- 
fore her  memory  an  image  of  the  slender 
little  woman  with  hair  fast  changing  to 
gray,  with  eager  eyes  burning  in  the  thin 
face.  She  felt  again  the  nervous  kiss, 
more  ambition  than  affection,  which  hur- 
ried her  away  to  college  every  year.  She 
heard  the  insistent  voice,  "  Remember, 
Marion,  your  grandfather  led  his  class." 

As  swiftly  came  a  vision,  which  lingered 


104  Vassar  Studies 

longer,  of  her  father  with  his  peaceful 
look.  "  Live  up  to  the  best  that  is  in 
you,  daughter,  and  let  the  rest  go." 

Marion  had  entered  her  room,  and, 
locking  the  door,  sat  down  by  the  window 
to  think,  leaving  the  gas  unlighted  so  as 
to  prevent  troublesome  calls.  As  she 
leaned  her  elbows  on  the  sill,  staring  out 
toward  the  library,  she  noticed  that  the 
lights  were  turned  low  and  the  students 
had  disappeared.  From  that  she  knew 
that  it  must  be  later  than  half-past  nine, 
and  there  was  the  great  question  to  be 
decided  all  over  again  before  ten  o'clock. 

Why  should  she  not  refuse  to  accept 
this  "  honor  "  which  had  been  thrust  upon 
her? 

The  spirit  of  her  whole  college  career 
demanded  such  a  refusal. 

At  the  very  opening  of  her  new  life, 
the  key-note  of  her  character  had  declared 
itself  as  a  love  almost  pugnacious  for  in- 
tellectual independence.  Undoubtedly, 
this  trait,  based  upon  a  natural  tendency, 
had  been  strengthened  by  her  previous 
experience.  The  eldest  daughter  in  a 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       105 

large  family,  she  had  early  assumed  re- 
sponsibility and  authority.  After  gradu- 
ating from  the  high  school,  three  years  of 
teaching  had  by  no  means  weakened  her 
habit  of  self-reliance.  Close  companion- 
ship with  her  father,  an  earnest  and 
liberal  thinker,  supplemented  by  an  en- 
thusiastic assimilation  of  Emerson's  teach- 
ings, sufficed  to  prepare  her  to  become  an 
active  radical,  whenever  her  principles 
should  happen  to  clash  with  precedent. 

In  taking  the  entrance  examination  for 
college,  her  method  was  significant.  She 
worked  leisurely,  being  in  no  haste  to 
measure  achievement  by  the  arbitrary 
limit  set  by  another  mind.  She  did  not 
hesitate  to  state  her  views  in  contradis- 
tinction to  accepted  text-book  decisions. 
In  the  geometry  paper  she  preferred  to 
attempt  original  solutions,  thereby  spend- 
ing more  time  than  was  needed  for  a  ready 
memory  reproduction.  She  lingered  over 
points  that  interested  her,  and  slighted 
others.  She  disliked  so  thoroughly  to  be 
an  echo  that  she  was  almost  tempted  to 
display  some  originality  in  the  matter  of 


io6  Vassar  Studies 

giving  dates.  In  choosing  a  subject  from 
the  list  for  essays,  she  selected  one  upon 
which  she  had  never  thought  instead  of 
others  with  which  she  was  familiar.  It 
was  somewhat  of  a  trial  to  her  to  correct, 
as  required,  a  series  of  ungrammatical 
sentences  ;  she  felt  vaguely  antagonistic 
toward  bringing  independent  phraseology 
into  harmony  with  accepted  standards. 

Upon  her  arrival  at  college,  she  came 
into  conflict  with  a  state  of  affairs  which 
cried  out  to  the  radical  mind  for  help 
against  precedent.  She  found  existing  a 
system  of  self-government.  In  the  organ- 
ization of  the  students  into  a  self-govern- 
ing body,  the  Faculty  had  directed  the 
incorporation  of  three  general  rules  refer- 
ring to  exercise,  sleep,  and  attendance  at 
chapel.  Upon  becoming  a  member  of 
the  college,  each  student  signed  the  con- 
stitution binding  her  in  honor  to  respect 
the  provisions  therein  enjoined.  Marion 
objected  to  signing  the  constitution  on 
the  ground  that  the  Association  was 
falsely  styled  self-government,  inasmuch 
as  the  laws  had  been  originally  imposed 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       107 

by  a  superior  body.  After  a  spirited  dis- 
cussion of  her  position  with  the  executive 
committee  of  the  Students'  Association, 
she  was  allowed  to  choose  either  to  abide 
by  the  laws  of  the  community  which  she 
had  entered,  or  to  consider  herself  under 
the  surveillance  of  the  Faculty.  Marion 
replied  with  dignity  that  she  had  passed 
the  boarding-school  age,  and  gave  her 
formal  signature  to  the  document.  There- 
after, though  keeping  her  pledge  scrupu- 
lously, she  preached  reform  at  every 
opportunity.  While  maintaining  that  the 
rules  were  expedient  in  themselves  (as 
she  was  merely  an  individualist,  not  an 
anarchist),  she  focussed  her  opposition  up- 
on the  fact  that  in  drawing  up  its  own 
constitution  the  Association  had  not  been 
absolutely  free. 

This  first  experience  turned  the  main 
energy  of  Marion's  reformatory  zeal  into 
one  channel  —  that  of  resistance  to  the 
conservative  element  at  college  as  em- 
bodied in  the  authority  of  the  Faculty. 
The  great  public  question  of  her  fresh- 
man year  had  considered  the  advisability 


io8  Vassar  Studies 

of  petitioning  the  Faculty  for  permission 
to  wear  academic  caps  and  gowns.  In 
the  debate,  Marion  used  her  strength  in 
protesting  against  appealing  to  the  Fac- 
ulty. If  it  was  an  association  for  true 
self-government,  she  declared,  the  stu- 
dents should  carry  out  independently 
their  own  decisions.  When  the  petition 
was  refused,  she  promptly  arrayed  her 
forces  on  the  side  of  caps  and  gowns. 
Although  recognizing  reasonableness  in 
objections  against  the  costume  as  being 
a  relic  of  medievalism,  and  as  deepening 
the  distinction  between  students  and  the 
outside  world,  she  argued  that  when  girls 
were  old  enough  to  come  to  college  they 
were  sufficiently  mature  to  expect  persua- 
sion instead  of  dictation.  Marion  herself 
was  two  years  older  than  the  average 
freshman. 

It  was  due  in  a  measure  to  her  efforts 
that  Washington's  Birthday  of  the  follow- 
ing winter  was  marked  by  an  outburst  of 
undergraduate  rebellion  against  authority. 
For  certain  reasons  the  Faculty  had  de- 
cided not  to  give  the  day  as  a  holiday. 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       109 

The  students  were  wrathful,  pinning  their 
justification  to  the  name  of  patriotism. 
The  birthday  dawning  discovered  black- 
bordered  posters  announcing  the  death  of 
patriotism.  The  girls  attended  classes  in 
travelling  garb,  as  if  intending  to  catch 
the  earliest  train  after  dismissal.  As  the 
instructors  entered  the  class  rooms,  they 
were  greeted  with  national  songs.  The 
professors  found  on  the  blackboards  star- 
ing signs  expatiating  on  incidents  in 
American  history  which  contrasted  with 
the  present  celebration,  or,  rather,  want  of 
celebration.  One  teacher  checked  some- 
what the  obstreperous  infatuation  for  our 
Country  by  requiring  her  pupils  to  trans- 
late into  Latin  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. At  dinner  the  seniors  appeared 
dressed  in  black  as  priests  and  nuns,  while 
their  tables  were  draped  in  mourning  and 
ornamented  with  imitation  tombstones. 
A  rope  was  stretched  around  the  Faculty 
table,  and  flags  were  hung  so  as  to  cut 
them  off  from  the  students.  Once  during 
the  meal  the  suggestion  of  a  hiss  was 
heard.  Marion,  breathing  in  the  air  of 


no  Vassar  Studies 

insurrection,  began  to  hope  that  the  girls 
would  be  capable  in  time  of  rising  all  to- 
gether in  the  might  of  unity  to  abolish 
the  "  Honor  System." 

Marion  was  exceptionally  suited  to 
head  such  a  crusade.  In  accordance  with 
university  tradition,  the  sympathies  of 
the  student  body  are  almost  invariably 
revolutionary.  From  the  first,  both  in 
general  and  personal  affairs,  Marion  had 
proved  her  lack  of  docility.  One  season 
when  the  Faculty  deemed  it  wise,  in  con- 
sideration of  the  waste  of  strength  in- 
volved, to  prohibit  the  customary  fourth 
hall  play,  Marion  was  chairman  of  the 
committee  appointed  to  issue  a  mock  play- 
bill for  the  play  that  never  came  off. 
She  developed  an  unsuspected  talent  for 
satire  so  powerful  that  she  barely  escaped 
a  reprimand.  The  refusal  to  permit  bi- 
cycle races  on  Field  Day  afforded  her 
further  scope  for  frowning  denunciation 
of  nursery  methods  and  for  effectively 
sarcastic  speeches  upon  paternalism. 
One  winter  the  students  circulated  a  peti- 
tion asking  for  an  extension  of  the  Christ- 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       1 1 1 

mas  vacation.  Marion  had  reached  the 
stage  when  she  declined  to  sign  petitions 
of  any  kind  from  principle.  Imagine  her 
ire  to  hear  one  night  in  chapel  an  ad- 
dress to  the  girls,  apropos  of  the  vacation 
petition,  scoring  the  two  or  three  who  had 
refused  to  give  their  signatures  to  the 
paper  pledging  all  to  return  punctually,  if 
the  request  should  be  granted.  Failing  to 
grasp  the  point  of  the  admonition,  Marion 
assumed  that  her  beloved  principle  of  in- 
dividualism was  attacked.  She  spent  the 
evening  in  firing  upon  her  inoffensive 
friends  a  fusillade  of  quotations,  chiefly 
Emersonian. 

It  is  only  fair  to  add  that  Marion  sel- 
dom hid  behind  quotations.  She  formed 
her  own  opinions,  and  stood  by  them 
boldly.  In  this  respect  she  differed  from 
the  majority  of  the  girls,  who,  however 
radical  they  might  be  in  the  mass,  were 
generally  docile  as  individuals  under  the 
pressure  of  superior  knowledge  and  ex- 
perience. Occasionally  a  professor,  may- 
be particularly  forceful  and  decided  as 
well  as  brilliant,  exerted  a  strong — even 


ii2  Vassar  Studies 

compelling — intellectual  influence.  Inde- 
pendence in  method  of  study  was  invari- 
ably required,  while  originality  of  results, 
when  strikingly  in  discord  with  the  es- 
tablished view,  was  carefully  corrected. 
Under  one  or  two  instructors  of  this  de- 
scription, though  many  of  the  other  pupils 
followed  the  leaders  in  the  sheeplike  way, 
Marion  was  continually  demurring  against 
what  seemed  to  her  dictatorial  criticism. 
She  often  attempted  argument,  was 
honored  with  notice  as  "  promising,"  and 
set  back  upon  herself  as  "  young  yet." 

In  her  manner  of  studying,  also,  Marion 
was  unlike  the  greater  number  of  her 
mates.  The  students  were  expected  to 
spend  two  hours  in  the  preparation  of 
each  lesson.  (Marion  objected  to  the 
word  lesson  at  an  institution  for  higher 
education,  as  she  repudiated  the  designa- 
tion of  college  girl  instead  of  college 
woman.)  Frequently  a  teacher  gave  out 
so  much  work  that  more  than  the  specified 
time  was  demanded,  and  thus  other  sub- 
jects were  robbed  of  due  allowance. 
Girls  are  said  to  need  the  bit,  boys  the 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       113 

spur.  The  majority  of  the  students  per- 
mitted their  work  to  master  them ;  they 
strained  every  nerve  to  accomplish  the 
amount  assigned,  robbing  themselves  of 
rest,  recreation,  and  reserve  vitality. 
Marion  was  slow,  steady,  and  thorough. 
After  expending  upon  each  piece  of  work 
the  amount  of  time  to  which  she  con- 
sidered it  entitled,  even  if  she  had  failed 
to  cover  the  ground  required,  she  passed  on 
to  the  next  task.  When  some  of  her  com- 
panions criticised  her  consciousness  of  the 
clock  as  unscholarly,  she  found  a  reply 
ready  in  the  fact  that  the  college  day  is 
divided  strictly  into  successive  periods. 

In  deciding  upon  electives,  Marion 
never  consulted  any  one,  not  even  her 
father.  She  acted  unwaveringly  upon  the 
conviction  that  she  herself  understood  her 
own  needs  better  than  anybody  else. 
Sometimes,  when  troubled  by  a  suggestion 
of  misgiving  verging  toward  regret  for 
having  adopted  a  certain  course,  she 
sweetened  her  philosophy  of  life  with  a 
grain  of  fatalism,  and  refused  backward 
looks. 


ii4  Vassar  Studies 

When  Marion  was  elected  an  editor  of 
the  Miscellany,  her  department  grew 
markedly  independent.  Students  and 
Faculty  in  their  conduct  of  affairs  which 
pertained  to  the  community  at  large  were 
frankly  criticised.  The  issue  of  the  mag- 
azine became  each  month  something  of 
an  explosive  event.  Faculty  decrees  were 
discussed  freely  ;  lectures  were  sharply  re- 
viewed ;  committee  work  was  held  up  to 
public  view  ;  hall  plays  were  reported  with 
an  accompaniment  of  specific  praise  and 
blame.  Perhaps,  even  if  occasionally  the 
scorings  were  based  on  presumptions 
somewhat  too  absolute,  the  power  of  the 
press  in  this  particular  instance  tended 
toward  elevation  of  ideal  and  improve- 
ment of  effort.  The  most  successful  re- 
formers are  seldom  tender  in  handling 
personal  feelings.  In  moulding  society, 
they  sometimes  pinch  an  individual. 

As  Marion  sat  there  in  her  darkened 
room  with  her  chin  resting  on  her  hands, 
she  could  look  back  with  satisfaction  upon 
a  succession  of  minor  reforms  in  which  she 
had  been  influential.  Her  class  had  been 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       115 

the  first  to  curtail  the  extravagance  of 
flowers  at  the  Sophomore  Party.  Her 
chapter  of  the  Philalethean  Society  had 
been  the  pioneer  in  reviving  the  old  literary 
spirit  of  the  organization.  She  had  served 
on  the  committee  which  renovated  the 
celebration  of  Founder's  Day.  She  had 
been  prominent  in  advocating  the  demo- 
cratic allotment  of  the  senior  tables,  and 
in  supporting  the  resolution  enjoining 
economy  in  respect  to  Class  Day  gowns. 
And,  most  important  of  all,  this  last  year 
the  Students'  Association  had  carried  a 
vote  to  suspend  the  ten-o'clock  "curfew" 
rule,  one  of  the  three  fundamental  laws  in 
the  constitution.  It  had  been  a  victory 
almost  in  defiance  of  the  Faculty. 

But — and  Marion's  palms  pressing  into 
her  cheeks  seemed  to  set  her  mouth  in 
more  resolute  lines — there  was  the  "  Honor 
System." 

In  college  life  there  are  certain  questions 
which  come  to  the  front,  grow  most  absorb- 
ing, and  then  drop  entirely  out  of  sight 
for  a  few  years.  The  "  Honor  System  " 
was  one  of  these  recurrent  topics  of  vivid 


n6  Vassar  Studies 

interest.  During  Marion's  college  days, 
public  opinion  among  the  students  had 
been  gathering  a  wavelike  force  of  increas- 
ing antagonism  to  the  principle  of  discrimi- 
nation embodied  in  the  promulgation  of 
an  "  honor  list."  The  main  objection 
emphasized  the  assumption,  mistaken  or 
otherwise,  that  the  system  made  excellence 
in  scholarship  a  question  of  marks. 
Voraciously  critical,  the  girls  seized  upon 
an  apparent  inconsistency.  Throughout 
the  undergraduate  years,  the  college 
preached  the  importance  of  independent 
interest  in  each  subject  of  study  without 
stress  upon  marks — that  is,  upon  compara- 
tive facility  in  meeting  the  emergencies  of 
recitation  and  examination.  When,  be- 
hold !  at  the  end  of  the  course,  those  who 
had  chanced  to  obtain  marks  above  a 
certain  standard  were  held  up  for  honor  as 
distinguished  beyond  their  mates.  Believ- 
ing that  a  superficial  preparation  could 
often  achieve  a  more  showily  brilliant 
recitation,  some  argued  that  the  weight 
laid  upon  marks  by  the  "  Honor  System" 
discounted  the  more  solid  study  which  was 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       1 1 7 

not  guided  by  calculations  upon  possible 
questions  to  be  encountered  in  the  class- 
room. 

In  defense  of  the  system,  the  authorities 
maintained  that  the  only  practicable 
method  of  preserving  a  record  of  individual 
accomplishment  was  by  means  of  so-called 
marks.  These  marks  were  used  solely  as 
a  tangible  basis  for  the  final  computation 
of  each  student's  general  standing ;  they 
were  never  put  forward  or  brought  into 
notice  in  the  slightest  degree  as  an  incen- 
tive to  effort  during  the  four  years. 
Furthermore,  it  was  undeniable  that  an 
able  student,  working  conscientiously, 
without  reference  to  learning  a  "lesson" 
merely  for  the  day,  would  be  thoroughly 
equipped  for  recitations,  and  would  count 
for  more  in  every  respect  than  the  flimsier 
time-server.  The  "  honors  "  were  conferred 
not  as  a  reward  but  as  an  acknowledg- 
ment. There  were  distinctions  of  position 
and  office  for  those  who  excelled  in  ath- 
letics, executive  force,  social  graces, 
literary  accomplishment.  Should  not  an 
institution  existing  primarily  for  the 


n8  Vassar  Studies 

cultivation  of  the  mind  uphold  the  custom 
of  awarding  public  recognition  to  those 
who  surpassed  their  companions  intellec- 
tually in  combined  ability  and  indus- 
try? 

During  Marion's  senior  year,  the  crusade 
against  "  honors "  had  culminated  in  a 
petition  requesting  the  Faculty  to  refrain 
this  spring  from  creating  invidious  dis- 
tinctions by  means  of  such  an  objectionable 
method.  Besides  unceasing  agitation  in 
personal  conversations,  Marion  had  taken 
a  resolute  part  in  every  meeting.  No 
opposing  arguments  were  heard,  and  the 
champion  of  reform  spoke  with  the  un- 
shaken courage  of  her  convictions.  Her 
speeches  harped  over  and  over  upon  two 
chords :  the  "  Honor  System "  is  not 
scholarly  ;  the  "  Honor  System  "  is  not  just. 
The  unscholarly  tendency  of  the  system 
to  encourage  some  types  of  ambitious  girls 
to  study  with  an  eye  on  probable  per  cents, 
she  discussed  at  length  but  without  feeling. 
Her  own  nature  was  too  utterly  without 
sympathy  toward  such  a  temptation.  The 
charge  of  injustice  inspired  far  the  stronger 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       119 

philippics.  The  "  Honor  System"  is  not 
just,  in  the  first  place,  because  it  may  be 
said  to  work  in  the  dark.  If  honors  at 
graduation  are  to  depend  upon  marks, 
then  let  the  marks  be  made  known  month 
by  month  and  year  by  year.  Do  not  keep 
them  secret  until  the  "honor  list"  comes 
out  with  a  flare  of  publicity,  announcing 
that  specified  girls  have  maintained  their 
college  work  at  a  certain  grade.  The 
"  Honor  System"  is  not  just,  in  the  second 
place,  because  it  is  based  on  a  wrong  prin- 
ciple. It  is  not  fair  to  measure  all  the 
students  by  the  same  standard.  It  is  not 
fair  to  make  no  allowance  for  different 
tastes  and  specialized  talents.  If  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  for  the  college  to 
thrust  such  distinctions  upon  helpless 
seniors,  let  the  acknowledgment  of  ex- 
cellence be  founded  upon  work  in  special 
departments.  Substitute  for  the  glitter- 
ingly  vague  and  comparatively  worthless 
"  Honors  "  the  more  significant  distinctions 
of  "  Honors  in  Greek,"  "  Honors  in  His- 
tory," "Honors  in  Chemistry,"  and  so  forth. 
In  its  present  form,  the  "  Honor  System  "  is 


120  Vassar  Studies 

not  scholarly  ;  the  "  Honor  System  "  is  not 
just. 

Marion's  speeches  invariably  slipped 
into  an  exhortation  at  the  close.  Let  the 
seniors  unite  in  the  might  and  the  right 
of  their  principles,  and  decline  to  support 
this  "  system."  Let  them,  as  a  class,  pro- 
test against  the  public  announcement  of 
"  honors."  Let  each  one,  as  an  individ- 
ual, pledge  herself  to  refuse  to  notice  or 
acknowledge  in  any  way  the  possible  and 
embarrassing  contingency  of  finding  her 
own  name  included  in  the  list.  And  fi- 
nally, in  a  last  and  most  effective  assault 
against  stubborn  authority,  let  those  who 
should  chance  to  be  appointed  the  speak- 
ers for  Commencement  Day  stand  to- 
gether in  an  absolute  and  irrepealable 
determination  to  repudiate  a  distinction 
disgraceful  from  being  based  on  injustice. 

Marion's  hands  felt  very  cool  against 
her  hot  eyes.  She  was  pressing  her 
forehead  against  the  window-pane.  The 
"honors"  had  come  out  to-night,  and 
she  was.  one  of  those  appointed  to  be 
speakers  on  Commencement  Day.  And 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       1 2 1 

the  other  girls — ?  They  had  followed 
her  but  lukewarmly  beyond  the  point  of 
protesting  against  the  "  system "  in  that 
petition  to  the  Faculty.  Marion  was 
thinking  of  the  muffled  swelling  of  joyous 
applause ;  of  the  excited  laughter  and 
chatter  and  congratulation ;  of  the  shin- 
ing eyes  and  happy  faces,  and  the  talk  of 
telegrams  in  the  messenger  room.  And 
then  she  thought  of  that  other  face  pass- 
ing them  at  the  staircase,  with  the  eyes 
staring  straight  ahead,  with  lines  set  hard 
about  the  mouth. 

"  Live  up  to  the  best  that  is  in  you, 
daughter,  and  let  the  rest  go." 

"  Remember,  Marion,  your  grandfather 
led  his  class." 

The  window  sash  flew  up  with  a  sud- 
den fling,  and  Marion  leaned  out  into  the 
soft  night  air,  sweet  with  the  breath  of 
wild  growing  things.  Almost  against  her 
will,  Marion's  thoughts  leaped  back  to  her 
childhood  :  her  first  success  at  school — 
the  headlong  scamper  for  home,  the  dash 
into  the  house  with  "  I  Ve  been  pro- 
moted !  I  Ve  skipped  the  whole  class  ! " 


122  Vassar  Studies 

and  the  way  her  mother  had  looked  as 
she  kissed  her ;  her  monthly  report 
cards — the  lagging  or  the  flying  step,  the 
grieved  glance  or  the  smile ;  her  high- 
school  days,  the  year  when  she  stood 
highest  in  Latin,  the  time  she  won  the 
prize  for  the  best  essay,  her  record 
through  the  course ;  her  mother's  dismay 
over  the  decision  of  the  school  board  to 
have  a  lecture  in  place  of  the  customary 
exercises  by  the  graduates  on  Commence- 
ment— no  essays,  no  valedictory,  no 
salutatory.  "  Perhaps,  Marion,"  in  wist- 
ful disappointment,  "  at  college — if  we 
can  ever  get  you  there— 

The  window  banged  down  and  Marion 
groped  her  way  to  the  match-box.  If  it 
were  anything  but  what  it  was — a  question 
of  principle — she  would  not  hesitate  for  a 
single  moment.  Of  course,  she  knew 
very  well  how  much  of  a  sacrifice  her 
mother  had  made  to  enable  her,  the  eld- 
est daughter  in  a  large  family,  to  spend 
four  years  at  college.  For  all  that,  what 
right  has  a  woman  to  inflict  her  ambitious 
designs  upon  the  individuals  who  happen 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       123 

to  be  her  children?  It  was  absolutely 
imperative  for  Marion  to  be  true  to  her- 
self. The  spirit  of  her  whole  college 
career  demanded  that  she  should  refuse 
to  countenance,  in  any  way,  a  system 
working  injustice  and  upheld  by  author- 
ity. It  made  no  difference  what  the 
other  girls  did.  She  was  bound  by  her 
utterances  as  well  as  by  her  principles. 
She  owed  it  to  her  sense  of  right,  she 
owed  it  to  society,  she  owed  it  to  herself, 
to  decline  to  support  the  "  Honor  System  " 
by  taking  part  in  the  exercises  on  Com- 
mencement Day. 

Marion  had  an  instant's  vision  of  the 
crowded  chapel — the  gallery  thronged 
with  girls,  downstairs  the  middle  pews 
white  with  seniors,  and  then  the  rows  and 
rows  of  guests,  packed  from  the  front  to 
the  farthest  corner,  upon  the  platform 
tiers  of  alumnae  and  instructors  behind 
the  grave  ranks  of  professors  and  trus- 
tees, and  standing  up  before  them  all 
somebody  in  white,  and  gazing  up  at  her 
from  the  audience,  her  mother's  face. 

At  this  point  Marion  became  aware  that 


124  Vassar  Studies 

her  fumbling  had  revealed  only  empty 
boxes,  and  she  started  out  to  borrow  a 
match  next  door.  In  the  lighted  hall 
a  glance  at  her  watch  showed  both  hands 
pointing  near  ten.  She  held  the  case  to 
her  ear  in  suspicion  that  the  works  had 
stopped  running.  Reassured  by  the 
steady  ticking,  she  had  passed  on  and 
tapped  at  her  neighbor's  door,  before  she 
was  conscious  of  a  dim  knowledge  that 
this  girl  was  also  on  the  "  honor  list,"  re- 
calling the  shining  eyes  and  lips  that 
smiled  in  the  centre  of  the  group  by  the 
staircase. 

As  Marion  heard  no  answering  "  Come," 
she  turned  the  knob  mechanically,  intend- 
ing to  help  herself  in  the  free  manner  of 
their  unconventional  intercourse.  Yes,  it 
would  certainly  be  the  wisest  course  not 
even  in  her  letters  to  allude  to  reprehen- 
sible college  customs.  It  might  prevent 
a  great  waste  of  explanation  and  fruitless 
repining  if  some  one  should  never  hear 
that  her  daughter  had  been  awarded  col- 
lege honors  and  been  appointed  one  of 
the  speakers  for  Commencement  Day. 


The  Career  of  a  Radical       125 

From  disdainful  imagining  of  a  pile  of 
telegrams  waiting  in  the  messenger 
room,  Marion  tried  to  recall  the  class- 
meetings  zealous  in  indignation  against 
the  system.  She,  at  least,  would  stand 
by  her  principles.  With  cheeks  growing 
hot  over  the  inconsistency  of  the  other 
girls,  she  began  slowly  to  push  open  the 
door.  Doubtless  this  very  neighbor  of 
hers  was  still  standing  somewhere  with 
smiling  lips  amid  congratulating  friends. 

Setting  one  foot  over  the  threshold, 
Marion  stopped  short  with  the  knob  wa- 
vering in  her  grasp.  Under  the  faint 
glow  of  a  droplight  on  the  table,  a  girl 
was  crouching  with  her  face  hidden  on 
her  arms.  Once  or  twice  her  frail  shoul- 
ders rose  and  fell  under  the  dead  black 
of  her  gown  in  a  long,  quivering  sob. 
Propped  against  a  book  before  her  was 
the  tear-stained  picture  of  a  woman. 

Marion  had  closed  the  door  from  the 
outside,  and  was  walking  swiftly  down 
the  corridor  in  the  direction  of  the  mes- 
senger room. 


VI 

A  CASE  OF  INCOMPATIBILITY 

ANNE  picked  up  the  blue  silk  umbrella 
with  the  ivory  handle,  and  set  it  in  the 
hall. 

Then,  leaving  her  door  ajar,  she  went 
back  to  the  absorbing  occupation  of  watch- 
ing with  her  forehead  close  to  the  pane 
the  exodus  of  students  for  the  holidays. 
From  her  window  in  the  north  wing  of 
the  building,  she  could  see  the  main  en- 
trance and  a  portion  of  the  evergreen- 
lined  avenue  which  led  to  the  lodge.  It 
was  snowing  heavily.  Anne  told  herself 
that  she  was  getting  an  impression — an 
impression  in  black  and  white  of  hurrying 
figures  and  umbrellas  aslant,  softened  to 
the  requisite  vagueness  of  outline  by  dis- 
tance and  the  veil  of  whirling  flakes. 
126 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     127 

Anne's  eyes,  however,  were  naturally  far- 
sighted,  and  her  window  was  not  so  high 
up  that  she  was  cut  off  from  a  view  of 
the  great  door  under  the  porte-cochere. 
For  a  genuine  impressionist,  she  scruti- 
nized too  keenly  the  individuals  in  the 
"  stream  of  humanity,"  as  she  chose  to 
call  the  girls  trooping  out  of  the  entrance. 
Some  stood  a  few  minutes,  deliberating 
under  shelter,  carefully  raising  umbrellas 
and  bracing  them  against  the  wind,  before 
starting  out  at  a  dignified  pace  toward 
the  electric  cars  tinkling  impatient  bells 
at  the  lodge  gates.  Now  and  then  one 
burst  from  the  door,  and  dived  into  the 
storm  on  a  blind  little  run,  grasping  a 
skirt  and  holding  a  dress-suit  case  in  one 
hand,  while  spasmodically  struggling  to 
open  an  umbrella  with  the  other.  Oc- 
casionally a  hack  rolled  noiselessly  up  the 
avenue,  with  snow  clinging  to  the  revolv- 
ing spokes  and  showering  thickly  back 
upon  the  road. 

After  a  pause,  during  which  the  out- 
flow of  travellers  had  almost  ceased,  the 
door  opened  gently,  and  a  girl  carrying 


128  Vassar  Studies 

only  a  small  satchel  appeared  on  the 
threshold.  In  spite  of  a  certain  resolute 
stiffness  in  the  lines  of  her  shoulders  and 
poise  of  her  head,  she  was  detected  by 
Anne  in  a  shy  half  glance  at  the  window 
while  ostensibly  scanning  the  weather 
signs  with  face  upturned  toward  the  in- 
finity of  softly  falling  flakes.  Drawing 
quickly  back  from  the  glass  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  defiance  in  the  movement,  Anne 
stood  looking  until  the  other  had  disap- 
peared behind  the  evergreens.  Then, 
although  the  girls  had  begun  to  sally  forth 
again,  the  impressionist,  after  drumming 
restlessly  on  the  sill  in  apparent  oblivion 
of  the  silhouette  still  before  her  eyes,  ab- 
stractedly picked  up  a  note-book,  and 
walked  from  the  room. 

The  umbrella,  standing  in  the  hall, 
Anne  set  inside  the  room  with  a  thump, 
although  in  propping  it  against  the  wall 
her  fingers  rested  upon  the  handle  almost 
caressingly.  "  Well,"  she  replied  to  some 
inward  voice,  "  of  course,  her  hat  will  be 
ruined.  But  she  left  this  here  herself." 

As  Anne  turned  the  corner  of  the  trans- 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     129 

verse  on  her  way  to  the  library,  the 
main  corridor  seemed  to  lengthen  before 
her  like  a  long  empty  tunnel.  To  her 
fancy  with  sudden  blankness,  the  two 
weeks  of  vacation  stretched  out  into  an 
endless  procession  of  flagging  hours.  All 
at  once,  life  became  a  desert  of  useless 
tasks,  and  the  vision  of  home  appeared 
to  recede  hopelessly  into  the  distance. 
"  Well,"  said  Anne  again  to  the  inward 
monitor,  "  she  has  got  to  learn  the  inutility 
and  poor  taste  of  gratuitous  criticism." 

Outside  the  library  door,  when  she 
halted  mechanically  at  the  bulletin  board  to 
read  over  the  old  notices,  she  was  accosted 
by  one  of  the  girls  in  travelling  array. 

"  Why,  Anne  Allee !  what  are  you 
doing  here  ?  I  thought  that  you  always 
spent  the  holidays  with  Estelle,  and  she 
left  ten  minutes  ago." 

Anne  turned  her  head  as  if  her  neck 
moved  on  a  screw.  "  You  were  mistaken," 
she  responded  coldly  ;  then,  unbending 
somewhat  at  the  dictate  of  courtesy,  "  I 
have  decided  to  remain  here  to  finish  a 
special  topic." 


i3°  Vassar  Studies 

"  Oh,  and  run  down  to  New  York  later, 
I  presume.  But  don't  work  too  hard ; 
you  look  so  awfully  tired.  Good-bye,  and 
a  merry  Christmas  !  Of  course,  you  will 
have  a  lovely  time  in  New  York.  When 
you  and  Estelle  are  together,  you  always 
manage  to  get  more  fun  out  of  life  than 
anybody  else.  Wish  her  a  happy  New 
Year  from  me.  There — I  must  run  for 
my  car." 

Anne  smiled  in  what  she  imagined  was  a 
sarcastic  manner,  but  which  was  externally 
only  a  rather  unpleasant  drawing  down 
of  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  Oh,  yes,  she 
was  perfectly  willing  to  wish  Estelle  every 
happiness  except  the  pleasure  of  her  soci- 
ety. That  should  be  withheld  until  Estelle 
saw  fit  to  repent  of  her  attitude  of  gratui- 
tous criticism.  Though  Anne  was  not 
altogether  clear  in  her  mind  concerning  the 
exact  meaning  of  "gratuitous  criticism," 
it  sounded  enchantingly  right ;  and  Anne 
was  fond  of  effects.  An  artistic  satis- 
faction in  the  phrase  sustained  her  in 
moral  comfort,  until,  glancing  out  as  she 
passed  a  window,  she  spied  the  black 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     131 

figures  still  trooping  forth  into  the  white- 
ness. Smitten  with  the  query  of  why  she 
had  lost  interest  in  the  scene,  she  stopped 
short,  and  with  a  muttered,  "  Idiot!" 
walked  slowly  back  to  her  room  to  resume 
steadfastly  her  enjoyment  of  the  view. 

As  she  stood  there,  the  hurrying  individ- 
uals appeared  to  become  mere  black 
dots  against  the  white ;  they  seemed 
to  fade  and  grow  smaller,  merging  into 
the  background  and  leaving  only  a  limit- 
less world  of  softly  falling  flakes.  Anne 
recalled  herself  to  reality  with  a  mental 
jerk.  The  spectacle  was  unquestionably 
glaring  for  eyes  tired  from  study,  and  the 
girl  blinked  a  little  as  she  turned  away. ' 

The  umbrella  leaning  disconsolately 
against  the  wall  roused  recollections  of 
Estelle's  comment  on  New  York  winters. 
No  wonder  that  she  could  not  preserve 
friendship  with  a  girl  so  hypercritical  in 
every  respect ;  and  Anne  sat  down  at 
her  desk.  On  the  shelf  underneath  lay  a 
large  scrap-book  in  which  she  pasted  me- 
mentos of  college  events.  "  Memory 
Bills  "  the  girls  called  them,  thus  escaping 


i32  Vassar  Studies 

the  pedantry  of  memorabilia.  Some  day 
it  will  be  pleasant  to  remember  these 
things,  they  were  wont  to  meditate,  in  a 
luxury  of  mourning  over  the  swift  flight 
of  the  present,  their  college  days,  named 
by  so  many  the  happiest  time  of  life. 

Anne  lifted  the  book  to  her  lap,  aim- 
lessly fluttering  the  leaves  clumsy  with 
programs,  notes,  pressed  flowers,  bits  of 
ribbon,  blue-prints,  and  whatever  else  of 
interest  could  be  fastened  to  a  sheet  of  pa- 
per— even  so  refractory  a  souvenir  as  an 
olive  stone  and  almond-shell  glued  side  by 
side  in  memory  of  last  Thanksgiving  Day. 

Anne's  eyes  rested  on  this  token  dis- 
tastefully. Vividly  came  the  picture  of 
the  long  dining-room  brightened  out  of 
its  ordinary  monotone  of  white  table- 
cloths by  many-colored  flowers  and  fruits 
and  shaded  candles.  Estelle  had  been 
sitting  beside  her,  absently  nibbling  an 
olive  with  the  speculative  abstraction  that 
always  characterized  her  when  pursuing 
an  idea  in  oblivion  to  results.  "  The 
trouble  with  you,  Anne,"  she  mused  aloud, 
"  is  that  you  care  only  for  surface  emo- 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     133 

tions.     Yes,  that  is  the  great  flaw — you 
are  a  sentimentalist." 

Anne  recalled  her  own  mental  shock  of 
amazement  at  such  an  interpretation.  At 
the  time  she  had  answered  nothing,  be- 
cause the  president  was  just  then  rising 
at  the  head  of  the  faculty  table  to  read  a 
telegram  announcing  the  outcome  of  the 
football  game  in  New  York.  During  the 
night  the  criticism  rankled  in  her  mind. 
Many  times  before,  Estelle  had  pondered 
aloud  over  various  traits  of  character,  and 
once  in  their  freshman  year  she  had  said, 
half  seriously,  "  I  cannot  decide  whether 
you  are  really  deep,  or  if  it  is  only  your 
manner."  With  eyes  full  of  laughter  Anne 
had  replied,  "  What  if  you  never  find 
out  ?"  It  had  struck  her  as  the  merriest 
of  jokes.  Now,  with  her  nerves  painfully 
on  edge  from  the  steady  strain  of  fall 
work  after  a  summer  spent  too  ambi- 
tiously in  study,  she  was  in  a  mood  un- 
pleasantly pugnacious  and  ready  to  take 
offence.  A  spark  of  resentment  was 
nursed  into  smouldering  anger  as  she 
brooded  over  the  gravity  of  the  accusa- 


Vassar  Studies 


tion,  the  fatal  defect  of  superficiality,  as 
well  as  the  implied  superiority  on  the  part 
of  Estelle.  She  knew  that  Estelle  had 
not  spoken  maliciously,  and  of  course  she 
herself  did  not  object  to  sincerity  ;  but 
Estelle  ought  to  learn  that  she  had  over- 
stepped the  boundaries  of  friendly  for- 
bearance and  committed  an  error  in 
infringing  upon  the  personality  of  an- 
other with  gratuitous  criticism. 

And  so,  when  unsuspecting  Estelle  had 
come  gaily  into  her  room  the  next  morn- 
ing, Anne,  with  a  little  thrill  of  excite- 
ment conscientiously  repressed,  hastened 
to  cherish  a  carefully  reasonable  irritation 
over  her  friend's  lack  of  ceremony.  Catch- 
ing the  poise  of  head,  Estelle  had  ex- 
claimed, "  Oh,  you  are  cross  !  "  and  Anne 
had  responded,  scrupulously  polite,  "  Not 
at  all."  Then  the  caller,  throwing  herself 
upon  the  couch,  while  the  hostess  with  an 
effort  inwardly  glowered  at  the  dents 
given  to  the  freshly  puffed-up  pillows,  be- 
gan, "  Oh,  dear  !  it  is  such  a  bother  to 
come  thirty-five  steps  every  time  I  want 
to  see  you.  I  wish  that  we  had  taken 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     135 

that  double  room  together  for  our  last 
year  here.  Don't  you  think  it  would 
have  been  pleasanter  ?  because  " — and  she 
was  smiling  at  Anne — "  you  see  we  are 
pretty  fond  of  each  other." 

There  must  have  been  a  flinty  streak 
in  Anne's  self-love.  She  turned  deliber- 
ately, saying  in  tones  coldly  distinct,  "  I 
am  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  existing 
situation." 

Without  looking,  she  saw  the  deep  red 
flush  sweep  over  the  sensitive  face,  and 
Estelle  had  gone  without  a  word. 

That  had  been  three  weeks  ago — more 
than  three  weeks,  and  they  had  not  spoken 
to  each  other  since,  beyond  mere  conven- 
tionalities at  the  table  where  they  were 
both  elaborately  courteous.  For  the  first 
few  days,  though  struggling  against  a 
tendency  toward  self-condemnation,  Anne 
fully  expected  that  Estelle  would  under- 
stand how  she  owed  it  to  herself  to  display 
a  just  resentment  of  gratuitous  criticism. 
She  did  not  realize — or,  more  truly,  she 
refused  to  believe — that  impulsive  Estelle 
had  not  given  a  second  thought  to  the 


136  Vassar  Studies 

frank  outspokenness  of  Thanksgiving  Day. 
When  at  last  Anne  permitted  herself  to 
see  that  wounded  affection  had  roused 
Estelle's  pride  in  all  its  stubborn  strength, 
she  set  her  self-righteousness  to  work  to 
fortify  her  own  position.  And  Anne  was 
skillful  in  such  operations. 

Now  the  holidays  arriving  found  one  of 
the  two  girls  hastening  away  to  the  gaieties 
of  New  York  at  Christmas  time,  while  the 
other  with  a  splendid  spirit  of  scholarly 
devotion  clung  to  her  books  in  the  lonely 
college. 

Anne  lifted  slowly  the  page  bearing  the 
olive-stone  and  almond-shell.  The  shell 
was  the  relic  of  a  philopena  which  she  had 
eaten  with  Estelle.  It  was  to  have  been 
a  give-and-take  philopena  ;  the  one  who 
should  accept  anything  offered  by  the  other 
would  be  required  to  pay  the  forfeit. 
Anne  glanced  toward  the  umbrella  ;  it 
was  always  easy  to  catch  Estelle.  And 
what  fun — but  recalling  her  thoughts  with 
a  portentous  frown,  Anne  turned  to  her 
book,  and  tossed  it  open  at  the  first  page. 

At  the  top  appeared  an  addressed  en- 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     137 

velope,  surrounded  by  blank  spaces  and 
inscribed  underneath,  "  My  first  letter." 
As  Anne's  eyes  lingered  upon  it,  she  saw 
again  the  row  of  girls  waiting  in  the  lower 
hall  for  the  mail-window  to  be  opened. 
Everything  seemed  to  take  its  tone  from 
the  strip  of  gray  rubber  stretching  down 
the  long  corridor.  The  gloomy  light  of  a 
rainy  morning  was  struggling  in  through 
narrow  windows  ;  rough  low  walls,  dull 
white,  extended  in  a  cheerless  vista ;  a 
few  men,  trundling  boxes  and  trunks  in 
every  direction,  wore  an  air  of  melancholy 
resignation  ;  some  of  the  faces  in  line  had 
an  effect  of  homesick  dolefulness.  Not 
until  her  letter  was  handed  to  her,  did 
Anne  notice  that  many  girls  by  no  means 
dismal-looking  were  flying  in  and  out  of 
the  janitor's  office,  lugging  step-ladders  up 
and  down  the  halls,  busily  unpacking 
trunks  outside  doors,  chattering  and  laugh- 
ing and  falling  on  each  other's  necks  in  a 
way  delightful  to  behold. 

Walking  toward  the  elevator,  with  eyes 
fastened  on  the  written  pages,  Anne  stum- 
bled against  another  freshman,  who  met 


138  Vassar  Studies 

her  apologies  with  the  cheeriest  good  will. 
"  I  know  how  it  is,"  she  said  ;  "  I  received 
my  first  letter  yesterday.  Is  n't  this  the 
loveliest  place,  and  is  n't  it  queer  to  see  so 
many  girls  together  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  responded  Anne,  gazing  sol- 
emnly about  her,  "  it  is  an  impressive 
spectacle." 

After  staring  a  moment,  the  other  bent 
her  head  down,  and  laughed  a  long  time. 
Estelle  said  afterward  that  "  impressive 
spectacle  "  won  her  heart  then  and  there  ; 
and  as  for  Anne  herself,  she  had  never  be- 
fore discovered  how  easy  it  was  to  say 
funny  things,  and  how  pleasant  always  to 
be  appreciated. 

On  the  same  page  with  the  envelope 
was  the  invitation  to  the  first  reception 
for  the  new  students.  An  important  little 
senior  had  escorted  both  Anne  and  Estelle, 
who  by  this  time  were  sufficiently  well  ac- 
quainted to  be  intensely  interested  in  each 
other's  tastes  and  opinions.  Estelle  had 
disappointed  Anne  by  not  caring  at  all  for 
the  effect  made  by  the  dancing  globes  of 
the  Chinese  lanterns  which  outlined  the 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     139 

sweeping  curves  of  the  walk  leading  to 
the  brilliantly  lighted  hall.  She  would 
not  even  admit  the  peculiarly  collegiate 
beauty  of  eating  an  ice  upon  a  Japanese 
divan  covered  with  a  Bagdad  under  a 
cluster  of  palms,  with  "  Demosthenes"  in 
plaster,  life  size,  frowning  before  her, 
while  the  "  Dying  Gaul "  agonized  on  one 
side  and  the  "  Laocoon  "  writhed  on  the 
other.  Anne  had  been  fascinated  by  the 
play  of  color,  light,  and  movement,  by  the 
fresh  curves  and  tints  and  expressions  of 
pretty  girls,  whereas  Estelle  preferred  to 
study  the  people  who  looked  as  if  they 
had  "  lived."  Once  during  the  evening, 
the  two  girls  made  their  way  through  the 
thronged  art  gallery  into  the  museum, 
and  up-stairs  to  a  balcony  where  Anne  had 
discovered  some  mummies.  In  delightful 
horror  gazing  at  the  shrunken  skeletons, 
she  tried  to  work  herself  into  an  emo- 
tional realization  of  death.  Her  compan- 
ion expostulated.  "  Save  your  feelings 
for  real  experiences.  Sorrows  will  sink 
deep  enough  without  spading  up  a  soft 
spot  for  them." 


140  Vassar  Studies 

Anne  turned  the  leaf  quickly.  Even  so 
early  in  their  acquaintanceship  Estelle  had 
begun  to  assume  a  censorious  attitude. 
And  yet — how  pleasant  the  years  had 
been  !  As  she  looked  back,  it  seemed  as 
if  they  two  together  had  gone  laughing, 
like  joyous  children,  through  the  gliding 
days  of  busy  college  life.  One  night,  while 
they  were  chattering  light-heartedly  as  they 
climbed  the  stairs  to  their  rooms,  one  of 
the  other  students — a  woman  who  had 
reached  the  seriousness  of  maturity- 
passed  them  with  a  half-wistful,  "  You 
two  always  look  as  happy  as  daylight." 

Estelle,  sobering,  spoke  to  Anne :  "  I 
never  laugh  all  the  way  through,  do  you  ?  " 
adding  after  a  minute,  "  But  perhaps  we 
ought  to  skip  and  laugh  while  we  feel  that 
way,  for  we  sha'n't  feel  that  way  long." 

Anne  let  the  book  fall  shut  in  her  lap 
while  she  leaned  back  to  think.  There 
had  always  been  that  undertone  of  melan- 
choly in  Estelle's  temperament ;  and  many 
a  refreshing  dispute  had  they  enjoyed  con- 
cerning Anne's  tendency  to  blink  the  sad- 
ness of  facts.  Anne  remembered  that 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     141 

Estelle  had  called  her  cheerful  views  the 
result  of  a  shallow  optimism.  Ah,  well, 
they  had  never  agreed  upon  any  point 
capable  of  discussion.  The  daily  history 
of  their  comradeship  had  all  along  prefig- 
ured a  parting  of  the  ways.  A  certain 
day  had  been  especially  significant ;  Anne 
sighed,  recollecting.  Off  for  a  ramble  on 
a  May  afternoon, — over  the  fields,  around 
a  meadow,  through  a  grove  with  red  par- 
tridge berries  underfoot  and  flowering 
trees  above.  Estelle,  sitting  on  the  moss, 
ate  berries,  while  Anne  scrambled  over 
the  rocks  after  wild  columbine.  When 
they  strolled  on,  Estelle  halted  at  a  stone 
wall  to  announce  that,  as  she  was  tired  of 
wading  across  plowed  fields  and  tearing 
through  bushes,  she  did  not  intend  to  go 
any  farther.  Anne,  moving  forward,  said 
that  she  did  not  intend  to  go  back  so 
soon.  Laughing  a  good-bye,  each  had 
gone  her  separate  way. 

Anne  got  up  from  the  chair,  letting  the 
book  slide  to  the  floor,  where  it  lay  for- 
lornly with  one  leaf  doubled  over,  and  a 
program  pencil  dangling  from  an  edge. 


142  Vassar  Studies 

Only  last  Sunday  that  disagreeable  Miss 
Greene  had  said  at  dinner  that  she  was 
rejoiced  to  notice  a  less  exclusive  intimacy 
between  Anne  and  Estelle  ;  such  monopo- 
lies were  beneficial  neither  for  the  girls 
themselves  nor  for  the  college.  Anne 
had  responded  sweetly  that  she  was  will- 
ing to  make  any  sacrifice  in  order  to  please 
Miss  Greene.  Estelle,  looking  white  when 
Anne  spoke,  stole  a  glance  at  her  studiedly 
expressionless  face ;  Anne  had  just  caught 
herself  back  from  smiling  at  her. 

Picking  up  a  brush  at  the  sound  of  the 
luncheon  bell,  Anne  stared  into  the  mirror. 
She  did  not  care.  She  was  having  a  much 
better  time  than  Estelle.  Yesterday  she 
had  watched  Estelle  out  walking  alone, 
and  she  knew  from  the  languid  way  she 
stepped,  in  spite  of  the  attempt  at  vivacious 
interest  with  which  she  followed  the  flight 
of  a  bird  and  examined  an  empty  nest  un- 
der a  pine,  that  she  was  trying  hard  to 
pretend  to  be  happy.  Estelle  was  so  de- 
pendent upon  other  people  for  enjoy- 
ment !  She  herself  did  not  mind  solitude 
in  the  least ;  in  fact,  she  preferred  to  spend 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     143 

the  holidays  at  college   in   the  welcome 
pleasure  of  her  own  uncritical  society. 

At  luncheon  the  girls — there  were  forty 
or  fifty  remaining  through  the  vacation- 
appeared  irritatingly  commonplace,  as 
though  all  the  pretty  and  attractive 
students,  whose  homes  were  too  far  away 
to  render  the  trip  expedient,  had  been 
invited  to  visit  their  more  fortunate  friends. 
Anne  thought  the  table  fare  particularly 
tasteless  :  the  oyster  stew  was  cold  and  the 
beef  was  too  well  done.  A  sturdy  little 
sophomore,  sitting  opposite,  ate  so  cheer- 
fully and  so  much  that  Anne  longed 
fiercely  to  proclaim  that,  the  shorter  our 
descent  from  peasant  ancestry,  the  more 
we  eat.  When  some  one  said  that  Anne 
looked  homesick,  and  some  one  else 
volunteered,  smiling,  that  Estelle  was 
away,  Anne  decided  not  to  wait  for  choco- 
late, but  to  begin  work  on  her  special 
topic  at  once. 

Somehow,  after  she  had  settled  herself 
in  the  deserted  library,  with  books  spread 
open  and  fountain-pen  shaken  into  a  favor- 
able condition,  she  could  not  concentrate 


144  Vassar  Studies 

her  attention  on  the  subject.  When  she 
found  herself  reading  the  same  page  for 
the  fourth  time,  she  resolved  to  rest  for 
three  days  and  begin  with  fresh  zest  on 
Monday. 

As  soon  as  she  was  in  her  own  room— 
and  it  seemed  unusually  far  away — she 
seated  herself  at  some  mending.  She  had 
once  heard  the  statement  that  a  bit  of 
sewing  is  tranquillizing  for  nerves  worn  by 
mental  work  or  worry.  Anne  lost  faith  in 
the  speaker.  An  overwhelming  restless- 
ness to  escape  from  the  monotonous  brick 
walls  urged  to  action  as  a  safety  valve. 
As  a  glance  out-of-doors  gave  no  hope 
of  open-air  exercise  that  afternoon,  she 
determined  to  put  her  wardrobe  shelves  in 
order.  By  the  time  she  had  piled  all  her 
gowns  on  the  couch,  tossed  a  dozen  paste- 
board boxes  into  a  corner,  and  arrayed  her 
boots  and  shoes  on  the  bureau,  she  felt 
more  resigned  to  the  prospect  of  walking 
down  the  long  corridors  when  the  gong 
should  strike  for  dinner. 

Upon  sitting  down  to  rest,  she  noticed 
that  her  skirt  was  covered  with  dust,  and 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     H5 

she  remembered  that  the  last  time  she  had 
held  a  house-cleaning  Estelle  had  lent  her 
a  white  apron.  Estelle  herself  always 
looked  so  sweet  and  domestic  in  a  white 
apron  ;  she  was  winning  and  womanly,  too, 
and  undoubtedly  she  would  marry  some 
day.  Of  course,  then  she  would  be  mo- 
nopolized, narrowing  down  her  interests  to 
the  family  circle.  There  was  a  possibility 
of  narrowness  in  her  character.  For  in- 
stance, in  her  manner  of  studying,  she  was 
bound  so  exclusively  to  details  that  she 
failed  to  appreciate  Anne's  broad  grasp  of 
the  subject  in  hand.  When  they  used  to 
translate  together,  Anne  always  skimmed 
ahead  through  the  sight  reading,  while 
Estelle  plodded  on  behind,  wrestling  with 
the  difficult  constructions.  Estelle  said 
that  Anne  was  not  thorough.  At  this 
point  in  her  retrospection,  happening  to 
raise  her  eyes,  Anne  spied  her  own  face 
rather  grim  in  the  mirror.  She  said  aloud, 
"  I  think  you  are  horrid ! "  and  then  she 
threw  herself  down  among  all  the  gowns, 
and  covered  her  face  with  her  best  hat, 
and  cried. 


146  Vassar  Studies 

Saturday,  snubbing  all  overtures  of  com- 
panionship, Anne  conscientiously  divided 
her  time  between  roaming  through  the 
cleared  paths,  and  reading  a  novel  recom- 
mended by  an  enthusiastic  freshman  as 
good  to  distract  the  thoughts.  On  Sun- 
day she  gathered  with  the  dozen  other 
seniors  stranded  for  the  holidays  to  open 
the  Christmas  parcels  which  had  arrived 
the  day  before.  Upon  hearing  that  scar- 
let fever  was  prevailing  in  town,  she  made 
it  a  matter  of  principle  to  walk  in  the  two 
miles  to  church.  The  musical  part  of  the 
program  she  found  far  less  effective  than 
usual  to  soothe  her  into  dreamy  enjoy- 
ment ;  the  sermon  she  considered  pe- 
culiarly inappropriate  to  her  mood.  Never 
since  they  first  met  had  she  and  Estelle 
lived  through  such  a  peaceful  month — no 
disputing,  no  contradicting,  no  ferocious 
epithets — simply  politeness. 

On  Monday  Anne  plunged  into  work 
with  an  intensity  that  brought  her  up 
short  by  Saturday  night,  and  landed  her 
in  the  infirmary  with  a  furious  headache 
and  quivering  nerves.  In  the  morning, 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     147 

as  she  lay  listlessly  contemplating  the  sun- 
shine which  streamed  in  upon  a  jar  of 
flowers,  she  was  fancying  herself  in  the 
rdle  of  a  martyr.  Feeling  rather  vague 
concerning  the  grounds  of  her  prospective 
martyrdom,  she  decided  to  call  it  princi- 
ple. Week  after  week  she  would  be  lying 
there  ill — perhaps  dying — while  the  bells 
would  be  muffled  throughout  the  building, 
and  carpets  would  be  laid  in  the  corridors, 
and  the  girls  would  move  about  on  tiptoe, 
whispering  to  each  other  praises  of  her 
character  and  ability  and — and — heroism 
in  upholding  principle — the  principle  of 
self-respect  and  church  attendance  and 
such  things,  and  then  Estelle  would  be 
sorry.  As  Anne  did  not  feel  eager  to  go 
into  details  with  regard  to  the  reasons  for 
this  grand  remorse  on  Estelle's  part,  she 
was  relieved  to  see  the  physician  enter. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  program  of  the 
week  had  been  drawn  out — one  day  like 
another,  breakfast  rather  tasteless,  study 
absorbing  every  faculty  until  the  gong 
summoned  her  dazed  to  a  hurried  luncheon 
among  girls  who  aroused  an  uncomfort- 


148  Vassar  Studies 

able  sensation  of  antagonism,  then  a  soli- 
tary saunter  for  a  scant  hour,  and  reading 
until  dinner-time  found  her  without  the 
energy  or  interest  to  change  her  gown. 
In  the  evening  she  tempered  her  with- 
drawal from  society  by  spending  some 
time  in  the  senior  parlor,  silent  over  a 
book  in  a  corner,  while  the  other  girls 
were  chattering  and  sewing  and  playing 
whist  around  her.  Then,  conquering  a 
nervous  dread  of  dusky  alcoves  and  re- 
cesses, she  started,  coldly  unapproachable, 
on  the  lonely  journey  through  the  long 
empty  corridors  to  her  empty  room. 

The  doctor  surveyed  the  girl  thought- 
fully ;  she  often  knew  more  than  appeared. 
There  crept  over  Anne  a  sensation  of  rest- 
fulness  from  contact  with  a  wholesome 
personality  ;  into  her  eyes  stole  an  expres- 
sion of  beseeching — of  supplication  for 
help  against  her  own  self-will. 

"  What  you  need,"  announced  the  phy- 
sician, "  is  rest  and  a  complete  change.  I 
know  that  some  of  you  girls  think  that 
vacations  are  given  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  enabling  you  to  do  special  topics.  But 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     149 

they  are  n't.  You  hate  the  looks  of  the 
brick  walls,  don't  you  ?  and  you  have  for- 
gotten how  to  hurry  when  the  gong  strikes 
for  breakfast.  You  can't  stay  here  this 
week.  Where  shall  you  go  ?  " 

A  light  sprang  into  Anne's  face.  She 
spoke  tentatively :  "  I  have  cousins  in  Al- 
bany." 

"  That  will  do." 

Anne  looked  disappointed.  "  Is  n't  Al- 
bany almost  as  quiet  as  it  is  here  ?  " 

"  A  change  of  scene  will  do  you  good." 

"  Don't  you  think,"  the  girl  swallowed 
something  in  her  throat,  "  that  New  York 
would  be  more  of  a  change  ?  " 

The  doctor's  keen  look  lost  its  edge  in 
its  personal  interest.  Anne's  fingers  were 
twisting  in  and  out  around  the  slender 
brass  bars  of  the  bedstead.  "  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  New  York  would  be  better. 
By  the  way,  has  your  friend  decided  yet 
whether  or  not  she  will  return  to  college 
after  the  holidays  ?  " 

"Not  return  to  college  ! "  gasped  Anne, 
springing  erect  and  staring  with  dilated 
pupils,  while  through  her  mind  flashed  a 


150  Vassar  Studies 

vision  of  doors  flung  tauntingly  open  and 
rooms  desolate  in  their  emptiness. 

With  a  touch  that  was  gentle  in  spite 
of  its  firmness,  the  doctor  pushed  her 
back  on  the  pillow.  "There  was  some 
talk  of  passing  the  remainder  of  the  winter 
in  Florida.  You  know  that  she  is  a  deli- 
cate girl." 

Anne  had  turned  her  face  to  the  wall. 
The  minutes  went  creeping  by  one  after 
the  other.  The  doctor  had  risen.  "  And 
so  you  will  go  to  New  York  ?  " 

She  bent  to  listen.  "  Maybe  I  will  go 
down" — the  voice  caught — "to — to — to 
see  the  opera." 

Tuesday  morning  in  the  Grand  Central 
Station  a  young  girl  was  re-reading  a  yel- 
low strip  of  paper :  "  Have  decided  to 
take  the  8.45  to-morrow.  Will  bring 
umbrella.  Anne." 

A  train  was  sliding  in  under  the  arch 
of  roof.  One  of  the  passengers,  stepping 
quickly,  held  out  a  blue  silk  umbrella, 
with  a  look  square  into  eyes.  The  out- 
stretched hands  received  it. 


A  Case  of  Incompatibility     151 

Anne  heard  her  own  laugh  with  a  gay 
little  ring  in  it:  "  Oh,  you  goosey,  philo- 
pena ! " 

The  other  was  smiling  back  into  her 
face.  "  Idiot !  you  have  forgotten  to 
wear  rubbers." 

And  Anne  did  not  mind  the  criticism 
at  all. 


VII 
FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  CLASS 

IT  was  the  evening  before  Field  Day. 
After  Chapel,  having  dropped  into  her  own 
room  and  lighted  the  gas  to  find  a  par- 
ticular notebook,  Mildred  had  bethought 
herself  of  exploring  the  window-seat  for 
the  long  streamers  of  class  colors  to  be 
used  the  following  morning  in  waving 
classmates  on  to  victory.  Upon  lifting 
the  upholstered  cover,  she  discovered  the 
ribbons  carefully  spread  out  just  above  a 
fluffy  mass  of  scarlet  tarlatan. 

Elise  must  have  put  them  there  in  readi- 
ness, thought  Mildred,  letting  her  hand 
rest  one  caressing  moment  upon  the  airy 
tarlatan  as  she  raised  the  generous  loops 
of  satin.  The  little  sister  had  been  par- 
ticular to  buy  ribbon  that  was  all  silk. 
152 


For  the  Honor  of  the  Class     153 

"  Class  colors  ought  to  represent  the  class 
worthily,"  she  had  explained  to  Mildred, 
when  that  young  woman  had  made  a  long 
face  over  the  price.  The  sight  of  the 
butterfly  skirt  recalled  to  Mildred  the 
Trig  Ceremonies  of  their  sophomore  year. 
She  saw  again  the  thronging  faces  in  Phil. 
Hall,  and  upon  the  tiny  stage  the  eight 
fair-haired  little  sophomores  in  the  witch- 
ery of  a  fairy  dance.  After  the  last  scene, 
when  the  curtain  had  been  drawn  up  for 
air,  Mildred's  special  fairy  had  come  skip- 
ping happily  across  to  the  footlights  to 
throw  her  arms  about  the  tall  sister  in  ex- 
cited blissfulness.  "  Oh,  do  you  think  it 
was  good  ?  Do  you  really  ?  And  are  the 
Ceremonies  a  credit  to  the  class  ?  " 

Elise's  enthusiasm  for  the  credit  of  the 
class  had  been  an  influential  factor  in  her 
college  career — a  factor  which  often  took 

^> 

the  form  of  censorship  over  the  conduct 
of  the  older  sister.  Mildred  must  not 
whisper  in  the  library,  or  be  tardy  for  din- 
ner, or  "out"  late  at  night,  because  such 
misdemeanors,  if  habitual,  might  reflect 
upon  the  reputation  of  the  class.  She  was 


154  Vassar  Studies 

always  hurried  back  to  college  promptly 
after  vacations,  for  punctuality  was  on 
Elise's  list  of  cardinal  virtues  for  both  in- 
dividual and  organization.  When  Mildred 
belonged  to  sections  comprising  members 
from  different  classes,  she  was  pushed  on 
to  study  with  increased  application  in  or- 
der to  shine  among  the  representatives  of 
the  four  divisions  of  students.  Before 
"  punging "  was  abolished  in  accordance 
with  courteous  request,  Elise  had  suc- 
ceeded in  persuading  Mildred  that  beg- 
ging for  rides  on  wood  sleds  over  country 
roads  was  unbecoming  to  a  dignified  senior, 
even  if  everybody  did  it. 

Mildred  leaned  on  the  sill,  drawing  deep 
breaths  of  the  cool  twilight  air  fragrant  of 
loitering  through  May  woods  and  playing 
with  drifting  apple  blossoms.  From  the 
evergreens  rose  a  murmur  of  sleepy  twitter- 
ing, now  and  then  swelling  into  the  full 
sweet  thrill  of  the  robin's  evening  call. 
The  breath  of  lilacs  wafted  from  the  gar- 
dens suggested  to  Mildred  her  sister's 
zeal  for  their  junior  party  the  year  before. 
The  juniors  and  seniors  had  gathered  in 


For  the  Honor  of  the  Class     155 

the  Circle,  where  the  thickening  dusk  was 
beginning  to  shut  off  all  except  a  few  sur- 
rounding faces  on  the  near  benches. 
Against  the  heavier  blackness  of  the 
hedge  appeared  the  twinkle  of  a  small 
candle  and  moving  shadows.  A  rustling 
of  gowns  over  the  grass,  low-toned  orders, 
once  a  bang  of  something  falling  and  a 
stifled  cry  of  dismay,  then  a  last  flicker 
of  the  candle  flame  gleaming  on-  a  face 
pursed  to  blow,  and  darkness.  Suddenly 
a  radiance  of  light  turned  full  upon  one 
spot,  and  there,  riding  on  the  glowing 
sickle  of  a  great  moon,  a  white-robed 
maiden  with  fair  hair  floating  loose  and 
the  rapt  uplifted  face  of  a  beautiful  spirit. 
Later,  when  the  festoons  of  Chinese  lan- 
terns were  illuminating  the  lawn,  Mildred, 
while  serving  ice-cream  and  strawberries 
from  one  of  the  rustic  pavilions,  overheard 
an  instructor  saying,  "  It  is  the  most 
charming  junior  party  in  years."  Feeling 
some  one  seize  her  arm  and  squeeze  it, 
she  looked  around  into  Elise's  shining 
eyes.  "  Our  class,"  in  an  exultant  whis- 
per— "  it  is  our  class  that  is  giving  it !" 


156  Vassar  Studies 

Mildred  gave  a  last  lingering  little  pat 
to  the  mass  of  fluffy  scarlet,  and  closing 
the  lid  upon  it  walked  slowly  out  of  the 
room.  She  did  not  notice  how  the  trans- 
parent curtains  were  fluttering  and  flap- 
ping almost  horizontally  when  the  opened 
door  caused  a  draught ;  she  did  not  see 
how  dangerously  near  the  fringed  edges 
blew  to  the  wavering  gas  flame.  She  was 
marvelling  in  her  slow  way  over  Elise's 
capacity  for  caring  for  trivial  successes. 
In  the  last  public  debate  between  the 
juniors  and  seniors,  while  awaiting  the 
decision  of  the  judges,  Mildred  had  been 
terrified  by  her  sister's  pallor — only  her 
eyes  blazing  with  a  dry  light  in  the  per- 
fectly still  face.  During  crucial  innings  in 
the  inter-class  basket-ball  games,  Mildred 
had  sometimes  turned  an  anxious,  half- 
wondering  gaze  upon  Elise  swaying  back- 
ward and  forward  in  the  helpless  suspense 
of  a  spectator,  with  her  teeth  clenched 
upon  her  lower  lip  and  her  hands  pinching 
each  other  convulsively.  They  were  very 
beautiful  hands. 

Mildred's  pace  as  she  moved  through 


For  the  Honor  of  the  Class     157 

the  corridor  suggested  a  smothered  worry. 
When  she  had  pleaded  with  Elise  not  to 
enter  the  lists  for  so  many  Field  Day 
events,  she  had  been  asked  in  reproachful 
amazement  who  among  the  seniors  had 
any  chance  for  winning  the  short  dash, 
the  running  jumps,  and  the  hurdle  race, 
if  their  lightest  and  most  agile  champion 
failed  them.  In  spite  of  this  unanswer- 
able argument,  the  older  sister  had  har- 
bored fleeting  thoughts  of  enforcing  the 
authority  of  her  rarely  roused  will,  as 
she  fancied  the  possible  evils  of  over- 
exertion. 

It  was  therefore  a  guardian-like  scrutiny 
—half  sisterly  criticism,  half  pride,  and 
wholly  protective — with  which  she  sur- 
veyed the  group  revealed  by  a  certain 
door  swinging  open  at  her  touch.  To 
her  the  five  or  six  seniors  in  positions 
varying  from  ease  to  formal  dignity 
seemed  to  be  clustered  about  Elise  as  a 
centre.  In  her  white  dressing  sacque  with 
laces  falling  away  from  her  soft  throat  and 
drooping  over  the  beautiful  hands,  Elise 
looked  like  a  lily.  She  was  lounging 


158  Vassar  Studies 

among  pillows  in  a  posture  which  would 
have  been  ungraceful  in  a  girl  less  daintily 
perfect  in  line  and  molding.  Some  one 
had  once  said  that  Elise  was  exquisite 
enough  to  be  the  only  child  of  her  parents. 
To  Mildred,  larger  and  stronger  in  every 
way,  with  longer  limbs  and  looser  joints 
and  more  robust  bloom,  the  little  sister 
had  always  appeared  as  fragile  as  a  pre- 
cious bit  of  porcelain.  With  an  exulta- 
tion almost  maternal,  she  delighted  in 
each  faultless  detail,  while  she  could  not 
help  being  tormented  by  any  needless 
blemish.  She  had  taught  Elise  to  sew 
without  pricking  her  forefinger,  to  row 
without  making  callous  spots  on  her  palm, 
and  even  to  use  a  fountain  pen  without 
spreading  ink  over  the  back  of  her  hand. 
As  Mildred  entered,  one  of  the  girls 
was  saying — it  happened  to  be  the  tall 
senior  who  was  thrower-in  on  their  basket- 
ball team  and  also  the  best  vaulter — "  After 
to-morrow  I  shall  begin  to  make  up  for  the 
desserts  I  have  missed.  Think  of  all  the 
ice-cream  and  chocolate  cake  before  me  ! 
Girls !  I  shall  eat  sugar  on  everything. 


For  the  Honor  of  the  Class     159 

And  please  won't  some  of  you  collect  a 
purse,  and  send  me  a  box  of  Huyler's?" 

"  Poor  dear  ! "  murmured  a  voice,  "  and 
all  because  of  one  little  piece  of  rose  and 
gray  silk." 

"  We  will  write  an  addendum  to  Fox's 
Book  of  Martyrs,  and  put  our  champions 
in  it,"  suggested  another. 

"  You  shall  have  all  the  maple  syrup 
you  can  eat  on  your  waffles  to-morrow 
evening,"  came  consolingly  from  a  third. 

"  Have  you  ordered  that  supper  al- 
ready?" exclaimed  Mildred;  "but  sup- 
pose that  we  do  not  win  enough  points  to 
carry  off  the  banner  ?  " 

"In  that  case,  there  will  be  double  need 
of  waffles." 

"And  syrup,"  drawled  the  martyr, 
"  with  oceans  of  butter." 

Elise's  wild-rose  face  had  suddenly  grown 
more  human  in  a  pained  frown.  "  How 
can  we  miss  winning  ?  We  have  held  the 
championship  banner  every  year  since  we 
entered,  and  we  are  the  most  athletic 
class  in  college.  The  other  classes  have 
not  yet  produced  any  remarkable  chain- 


160  Vassar  Studies 

pion  except  in  golf,  and  we  have  the  best 
vaulter  and  the  second-best  pitcher  of 
the  base-ball  and " 

Another  took  her  up  :  "  And  the  best 
little  hurdle  -  jumper  and  sprinter,  and 
maybe  you  will  win  in  the  running  jumps, 
and  our  basket-ball  team  cannot  be 
beaten." 

"  I  only  hope  it  won't  rain,"  piped  up 
melancholy  tones. 

"  Don't  talk  about  'fatal  contingencies. 
Who  knows  what  hostile  fates  may  be 
waiting  around  for  hints?" 

A  second  foreboding  mind  found  speech: 
"  I  feel  superstitious.  It  seems  as  if  we 
were  too  confident.  What  if  something 
should  happen  ? " 

Mildred,  who  was  sitting  so  that  her  sis- 
ter fell  just  within  range  of  vision,  spoke 
lazily:  "  There  might  be  an  earthquake,  or 
a  military  invasion— 

"  From  West  Point  ? "  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  that  would  be  effectual." 

"  Number  of  guests  strictly  limited," 
put  in  some  one  else. 

Mildred  had  turned  her  head  quickly 


For  the  Honor  of  the  Class     161 

toward  her  sister.  Elise  was  erect  with 
her  chin  tilted  forward  while  she  drew 
short,  swift  breaths.  "  I  smell — fire  ! " 

Mildred  was  on  her  feet  and  in  the  hall, 
while  the  others  following  scattered  here 
and  there,  sniffing  the  air  with  eyes  on 
transoms.  The  corridor  stretched  out  in 
deserted  peacefulness.  From  the  chapel 
the  tinkle  of  a  far-away  piano  had  given 
place  to  a  round  of  muffled  applause.  A 
maid  in  white  cap  and  apron,  who  had 
been  pausing  by  the  main  staircase,  had 
begun  to  move  out  of  sight.  Elise,  poised 
doubtfully  at  the  transverse,  caught  a 
stronger  whiff  of  something  scorching, 
snatched  the  direction,  and  ran  fleetly  after 
Mildred,  who  was  disappearing  around 
the  corner  of  an  alley-way.  Hurrying  af- 
ter the  sisters,  the  other  girls  beheld  an 
open  door,  a  gas-jet  flaring  in  the  draught 
from  a  window,  and  a  blaze  of  filmy  cur- 
tains swaying  to  and  fro,  while  the  window- 
seat  smouldered. 

Mildred  was  tearing  down  the  curtains, 
another  sprang  for  the  water  pitcher,  and 
a  third  seized  a  rug.  A  minute's  flurry, 


1 62  Vassar  Studies 

and  only  charred  edges  were  seen,  stripped 
of  the  glowing  border.  Smoke  still  floated 
up,  however,  and  the  window-seat,  opened, 
disclosed  burning  clothing. 

"  Hold  on  !"  coolly,  "don't  spoil  every- 
thing with  water,"  and  Mildred  was  prepar- 
ing gingerly  to  separate  the  top  garments 
from  those  yet  uninjured.  Excitable 
Elise,  darting  toward  the  box  with  a  little 
cry,  pushed  her  sister  aside,  and  grasped 
the  airy  mass  of  tarlatan.  Fanned  by  the 
motion,  the  smoking  stuff  broke  into  a 
blaze.  For  one  stupefied  moment  Mildred 
watched  the  flame  lick  the  drooping  lace 
of  the  sleeve,  and  curl  around  the  tender 
wrist.  Then  Elise  was  holding  her  arms 
out  stiffly  with  water  dripping  from  every 
stitch  down  upon  a  draggled  heap  of  red 
on  the  floor. 

"  We  had  intended  to  sell  those  Trig 
Ceremony  suits  at  the  senior  auction  for 
the  benefit  of  the  class  supper,"  she  ex- 
plained with  a  disappointed  sigh. 

Mildred  gently  lifted  Elise's  right  hand, 
and  turned  it  toward  the  light.  A  strag- 
gling mark  from  the  delicate  wrist  to  the 


For  the  Honor  of  the  Class     163 

dimpled  knuckles  was  already  beginning 
to  glow  an  angry  red.  "  Hurry  !  Hurry ! " 
Mildred  was  fairly  dragging  her  out  of  the 
room.  "  Quick  !  The  doctor  will  keep  it 
from  leaving  a  scar." 

Somewhat  later,  when  Mildred  returned 
to  her  room  alone,  she  found  the  girls 
waiting  for  her.  "  The  doctor  thinks  it 
best  for  her  to  remain  in  the  infirmary  a 
few  days,  so  that  the  burn  may  receive 
proper  attention  and  be  free  from  the 
danger  of  bruising."  Mildred  looked 
sternly  resolute  ;  no  one  suspected  that  a 
despairing  voice  was  insistently  ringing 
in  her  ears  :  "  But  Field  Day,  Mildred  ?" 

The  next  morning,  when  Mildred,  who 
had  secured  the  privilege  of  an  early  visit 
to  the  infirmary,  was  passing  through  the 
waiting-room  on  her  way  out,  she  came 
upon  the  best  senior  vaulter  being  as- 
sisted into  the  office.  A  dismayed  smile 
greeted  a  despairing  one.  "  Twisted  my 
ankle,"  was  the  laconic  comment ;  "  late  to 
breakfast,  of  course,  and  in  a  hurry." 

"  It  is  all  up  with  us  now,"  added  the 
friend  who  was  serving  as  a  crutch  to  her 


1 64  Vassar  Studies 

limping  steps ;  "  with  two  of  our  leading 
stars  eclipsed,  we  can  never  win  enough 
points  to  carry  off  the  banner  this  year." 

Mildred  stared  after  them  a  minute. 
Then,  as  the  physician  had  been  called 
away  for  the  day,  she  contented  herself  by 
saying  something  apparently  impressive  to 
the  head  nurse,  who  nodded  understand- 
ingly,  "We  '11  keep  her  safe  enough."  It 
did  not  occur  to  Mildred  as  suggestive 
that  Elise  was  in  the  infirmary  annex, 
and  the  annex  had  a  window  opening 
upon  the  corridor.  Furthermore,  the 
senior  who  had  just  passed  her  escorting 
the  disabled  vaulter  had  never  displayed 
any  trace  of  feminine  vanity — not  even 
with  regard  to  other  girls'  faces  and 
hands. 

It  was  almost  ten  o'clock  when  Mildred 
came  hurrying  through  the  arch  in  the 
yew  hedge  which  shut  in  the  Circle  on  one 
side.  She  had  barely  time  to  notice  that 
the  scattered  groups  of  girls  and  guests 
were  drifting  over  the  lawn  toward  the 
rows  of  benches  along  the  race-track, 
while  from  the  mattresses  stretched  under 


For  the  Honor  of  the  Class     165 

the  elm  half  a  dozen  of  the  competitors 
had  risen,  throwing  off  shawls  and  capes 
and  standing  forth  clad  in  dark  blue  ath- 
letic costume,  when  a  messenger  girl  has- 
tened toward  her  with  news  that  a  guest 
was  awaiting  her  in  the  college  parlors. 
There  was  nothing  for  her  to  do,  amazed, 
wondering,  and  impatient,  but  to  respond 
as  quickly  as  possible  to  the  call,  leaving 
the  time-keeper  about  to  start  the  events 
with  the  one-hundred-yard  dash. 

She  walked  away  so  rapidly  that  she 
failed  to  perceive  a  newcomer,  looking  far 
more  dainty  than  a  French  doll,  in  a  gym- 
nasium suit  with  a  broad  sailor  collar  and 
a  kilted  skirt  that  actually  produced  an 
effect  of  style,  who  was  peering  cautiously 
around  the  corner  of  the  hedge,  as  Mildred 
disappeared. 

In  the  college  parlors  she  found  an 
alert-looking  young  man,  who  begged  par- 
don for  troubling  her  personally,  stating 
in  excuse  that  he  had  come  out  to  report 
Field  Day  for  a  certain  illustrated  daily, 
and  that  two  young  ladies,  whom  he  had 
met  at  the  door,  had  informed  him  that 


i6'6  Vassar  Studies 

Miss  Mildred  Coutant  was  the  proper  of- 
ficial to  assist  him. 

After  the  first  flush  of  displeasure,  Mil- 
dred felt  a  thrill  of  self-confident  relief  that 
it  was  she  who  chanced  to  be  confronted 
by  this  emergency.  She  knew  herself 
equal  to  the  occasion.  The  list  of  guests 
for  Field  Day  was  limited  in  more  respects 
than  mere  length.  Not  until  after  the 
judicious  expenditure  of  fifteen  minutes 
of  diplomacy  did  she  succeed  in  persuad- 
ing him  that  the  lake  was  well  worth  a 
visit  preliminary  to  every  other  scene 
eligible  to  him.  She  even  took  particular 
pains  to  accompany  him  to  the  very 
front  door,  and  see  him  started  in  the 
opposite  direction  to  that  in  which  lay 
the  Circle.  At  the  last  he  hesitated, 
turning  his  face  wistfully  and  suspi- 
ciously toward  the  quarter  from  which 
sounded  a  burst  of  soprano  cheering. 
"  They  must  be  really  beginning,"  he 
almost  pleaded. 

"  The  girls  are  so  devoted  to  exercise," 
she  assured  him,  "  even  needless  exercise 
of  the  lungs.  And  indeed  you  should  not 


For  the  Honor  of  the  Class     167 

overlook  boating.  It  is  one  of  the  features 
of  life  at  Vassar." 

"The  athletic  side?  I  see"-— perhaps 
he  was  too  scrupulous  to  make  other  than 
a  mental  note — "  crews,  I  presume,  and 
races,  and  so  forth.  Do  they  have  a 
special  costume?" 

"  When  the  girls  are  in  the  boats,  they 
do  wear — a  sort  of  costume,"  with  a  flicker 
of  a  smile  at  thought  of  the  universal 
shirt-waist  and  sailor  hat. 

After  Mildred  had  fairly  despatched  the 
reporter  in  the  direction  desirable  accord- 
ing to  her  convictions,  she  hastened  to  ar- 
range that  one  of  the  professors  should  be 
ready  to  intercept  him  on  his  return  from 
the  lake.  She  herself  almost  ran  out  to 
the  Circle  in  regret  over  having  lost  so 
much,  and  in  suspense  concerning  the 
meaning  of  the  obtrusive  applause.  With- 
out noting  the  fact,  she  saw  a  face  at  the 
archway  disappear  as  she  came  in  sight. 
When  she  entered  the  Circle,  she  was  just 
too  late  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  one  of  the 
guests  vanishing  in  matronly  haste  around 
the  far  corner  of  the  hedge, 


1 68  Vassar  Studies 

The  vaulting  was  going  on.  Mildred 
watched  it  a  few  sober  minutes  while  her 
thoughts  were  straying  to  the  infirmary 
where  she  had  helped  to  strand  the  hope 
of  senior  success.  Presently  one  of  the 
athletic  representatives  of  her  class  rose 
from  beside  some  one  unrecognizable  un- 
der a  voluminous  cape,  and  moved  toward 
Mildred.  "  Mildred,  I  am  sure  that  my 
mother  is  in  the  college  parlors.  Would 
you  mind  going  to  bring  her  out  here  ? 
You  are  the  only  one  of  the  girls  whom 
she  met  last  week." 

Politely  eager,  Mildred  went  at  once, 
with  only  one  swift  glance  toward  the 
shade  of  the  hedge  where  the  gardener 
stood  leaning  on  his  rake  beside  the  space 
smoothed  off  for  the  running  jumps.  Even 
when  she  heard  the  solicitous  daughter 
call  after  her,  "  By  the  way,  we  have  won 
the  short  dash,"  she  did  not  spare  time  to 
inquire,  "  Who  ?  How  long  ?  " 

Unhappily  for  her  hope  of  speedy  re- 
turn, however,  the  guest  proved  to  be  in- 
tractably desirous  of  inspecting  the  senior 
parlor  before  going  out  to  the  Circle.  "  I 


For  the  Honor  of  the  Class     169 

hear  that  you  have  a  genuine  Corot,"  she 
explained  with  the  stately  sweetness  of 
one  accustomed  to  deference. 

"  It  has  been  there  all  the  year,"  sug- 
gested Mildred,  trying  to  smile  playfully 
while  clinging  to  the  resolve  to  dissuade 
this  wilful  lover  of  art. 

A  moment's  hesitation  imperceptible  be- 
neath serenity  sprang  from  an  inclination 
to  yield  the  factitious  point,  but  instruc- 
tions had  been  explicit.  "  Your  parlor  is 
not  very  far  away,  is  it  ?  And  there  is 
something  else  which  my  daughter  has  of- 
ten mentioned.  It  is  the  chair  which  once 
belonged  to  the  author  of  the  '  Star- 
Spangled  Banner.'  I  am  told  it  is  such 
a  courteous  chair  that,  when  any  one  be- 
gins to  sit  down  in  it,  it  bends  forward, 
and  bows,  before  settling  back  solidly  with 
a  little  bang." 

Though  Mildred  may  have  been  influ- 
enced by  such  an  example  of  obliging  be- 
havior, she  was  more  acutely  conscious  of 
being  swayed  by  expediency :  the  more 
promptly  she  acceded  to  the  request,  the 
sooner  she  would  be  at  liberty.  The  two 


1 70  Vassar  Studies 

were  already  on  their  way  to  the  apart- 
ment containing  the  specified  curiosities. 
Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  suavely  nervous 
efforts  to  quicken  steps  and  shorten  com- 
ments, when  they  reached  the  Circle  at 
last,  the  running  jumps  were  over. 

The  spectators  were  forming  in  a  long 
rectangle  near  the  centre  of  the  lawn.  A 
girl  in  athletic  costume,  with  dark  curls 
tied  back,  was  grasping  a  big  leather  ball 
in  the  curve  of  her  arm,  her  face  set  in 
the  stern  resolve  to  do  her  best,  while  two 
others,  cool  in  white  duck,  stood  ready 
with  a  measuring  tape. 

Mildred  watched  the  ball  career  clumsily 
through  the  air ;  she  was  trying  to  forget 
how  much  Elise  would  have  enjoyed  this 
last  of  their  college  Field  Days. 

When  the  onlookers  had  surged  forward 
to  see  where  the  ball  had  fallen,  Mildred 
slipped  out  of  the  throng,  and  hurried  to 
ask  the  score  of  a  group  of  seniors  under 
the  elm.  The  friend  whom  she  accosted, 
giving  her  a  keen  glance,  said  something 
about  writing  the  names  plainer,  and  be- 
gan to  fumble  with  her  stubby  pencil. 


From  the  other  side  of  the  trunk  crept 
an  unheeded  sentence  :  "  Too  bad  to  send 
her  away  again,  but  will  she  really  rattle 
you  ?  We  need  just  that  point  to  make 
sure." 

A  girl  near,  bursting  forth  into  a  vi- 
vacious description  of  the  fire  the  evening 
before,  impressed  Mildred  into  service  by 
appealing  to  her  for  confirmation  of  state- 
ments. In  toning  down  the  dramatic 
lights  of  the  narrative,  Mildred  was  too 

o 

much  occupied  to  insist  upon  seeing  the 
score  at  once.  She  had  accepted  the 
opinion  that  the  senior  class  had  lost  all 
chance  to  win  the  championship  banner. 

The  hurdle  race  was  about  to  begin. 
The  hurdles,  newly  planed  that  spring, 
looked  freshly  yellow  above  the  green 
grass  as  they  barred  the  long  straight 
course  stretching  across  the  Circle.  On 
the  side  toward  the  elm  was  the  small 
group  of  blue-suited  girls  upon  whom  at- 
tention had  been  focussed  all  the  sweet 
spring  morning.  On  the  opposite  side, 
pressing  up  to  the  rope  extended  along 
the  track,  was  the  line  of  eager  faces,  not 


172  Vassar  Studies 

calmed  as  were  the  others  by  responsibil- 
ity, but  mobile  under  the  sway  of  emotions 
springing  from  contemplation  of  endeavor 
out  of  their  control.  Far  away  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  course,  the  starter  was 
practising  vainly  at  making  her  pistol  go 
off  whenever  she  should  snap  the  trigger. 
Three  competitors  were  idly  watching  her, 
while  awaiting  the  time  for  the  real  call 
to  effort. 

Laggingly  some  one  else  was  detaching 
herself  from  a  group  on  a  mattress,  and 
walking  slowly  to  the  beginning  of  the 
course.  Mildred  glanced  at  her  carelessly, 
then  with  interest.  There  was  a  hint  of 
familiarity  in  the  motion  of  the  small  fig- 
ure concealed  from  head  to  foot  under  the 
strange  cape.  "  Who —  ?  "  commenced 
Mildred  with  bent  brows.  Just  then  one 
of  Elise's  special  friends  came  running  up. 
"  Oh,  Mildred,  Elise  wishes  that  you  would 
go  to  the  infirmary  right  away !  " 

The  habit  of  joyful  assent  to  her  sister's 
harmless  requests  started  Mildred  hastily 
in  the  direction  of  the  college.  Once  out- 
side the  hedge  and  hurrying  away  from 


For  the  Honor  of  the  Class     1 73 

the  lively  scene,  she  felt  herself  stopped 
by  an  impulse — a  longing  to  behold  this 
last  Field  Day  race  in  which  Elise  could 
have  come  in  so  easily  first.  Elise's  mes- 
sage had  not  spoken  of  requiring  instant 
response,  and — why,  of  course,  she  would 
inquire  at  first  sight  which  class  had  won 
the  banner. 

Mildred  had  barely  entered  again 
through  the  archway  of  yew  when  the 
starter's  pistol  popped  its  small  signal, 
and  she  spied  far  away  at  the  beginning 
of  the  track  not  three  but  four  figures 
spring  forth  from  position.  Running  across 
the  lawn,  Mildred  pressed  close  to  the 
rope.  One  of  the  racers  had  already  fallen 
out,  having  stumbled  and  failed  to  recover 
promptly.  One  was  jumping  recklessly, 
sometimes  catching  her  foot  and  displac- 
ing a  cross-bar,  and  momently  being  left 
farther  in  the  rear.  A  third,  though  al- 
most on  a  line  with  the  leader,  was  taking 
the  hurdles  heavily  in  awkward  bounds 
that  threatened  rapid  exhaustion.  Mil- 
dred's fascinated  eyes  clung  to  the  leader 
— a  dainty  little  creature  speeding  swiftly 


174  Vassar  Studies 

toward  her,  seeming  to  skim  the  bars  as 
lightly  as  a  bird. 

Something  magnetic  in  the  gaze  must 
have  drawn  a  flashing  glance  from  Elise 
as  she  was  darting  fleetly  past.  An  in- 
stant's pause,  almost  a  stumbling,  a  falter- 
ing leap,  with  a  foot  tripping,  and  the  blow 
of  a  bandaged  hand  against  a  cross-bar. 
Mildred  sprang  forward,  dragging  the 
rope,  but  Elise  was  out  of  reach  in  bird- 
like  flight  to  victory. 

Mildred  found  her  the  centre  of  a  glee- 
ful cluster  at  the  finish.  There  was  a 
sharp-breathed  "  Elise  ?  " 

Elise  looked  up  with  a  saucy  smile, 
though  there  was  a  curious  stiffness  about 
the  corners  of  her  mouth.  "  Don't  you 
wish  you  knew  ?  "  and  she  put  her  hands 
behind  her. 

From  the  thronging  group  of  seniors 
where  the  banner  waved  rose  a  joyous 
shouting,  and  ribbons  and  pennons  flut- 
tered out,  wildly  brandished.  Elise  danced 
up  and  down.  "  Hurrah  —  rah  —  rah  ! 
They  're  cheering  for  our  class  !  "  Then 
she  leaned  against  Mildred,  looking  white. 


VIII 
A   SUPERIOR  YOUNG   WOMAN 

"  IT  is  the  saddest  thing  ! " 

"What?" 

"  The  way  our  old  institution  keeps  on 
year  after  year  swallowing  up  superior 
young  women,  and  grinding  out  average 
girls." 

"  But,  Rachel " 

"  There,  look !  That  is  one  of  them 
about  to  be  swallowed  up.  She  is  an  ex- 
traordinarily perfect  specimen." 

Following  my  companion's  glance,  I  no- 
ticed a  tall  young  woman  walking  erectly 
toward  the  baggage-room.  The  very  out- 
lines of  her  alert  figure  in  its  tailor-made 
gown,  with  an  irreproachable  Knox  sailor 
set  squarely  upon  an  inflexibly  upright 
head,  produced  an  effect  of  absolute  self- 
175 


176  Vassar  Studies 

confidence.  Even  her  elbows  were  held 
at  a  self-assertive  angle. 

"  I  know  what  is  before  her,"  sighed 
Rachel  in  whimsical  sympathy,  as  she 
hastened  in  the  same  direction  to  discover 
if  our  luggage  had  arrived,  while  I  sought 
an  expressman  on  the  platform  bustling 
with  travel  of  the  opening  college  year. 

On  our  way  up  the  river,  other  return- 
ing students  had  been  on  the  train  with 
us  ;  and  that  meant  preliminary  joyous- 
ness  of  nods  and  smiles,  eager  greetings, 
and  chats  side  by  side,  with  the  words 
tumbling  over  each  other  in  the  hurry  to 
recover  lost  vacation  time.  Trooping 
from  the  cars  at  the  station,  with  a  sub- 
consciousness  of  condescension  toward  the 
other  passengers  bound  on  insignificant 
journeys  to  unimportant  places,  we  found 
the  platform  gay  with  possibilities  of  meet- 
ings. Everywhere  college  girls,  trim  and 
business-like,  identifying  baggage,  giving 
orders  to  expressmen,  or  clustering  in 
groups  for  a  word  or  two,  while  eyes 
shone,  and  satchels  swung  from  right  to 
left  for  a  hand-clasp. 


A  Superior  Young  Woman    17? 

Out  from  the  waiting-room,  where  a 
dozen  or  so  travellers — not  college  girls 
—kept  their  places  meekly  against  the 
wall,  thronging  into  a  trolley-car,  we  sat 
there  in  two  long  lines,  ready  to  smile  one 
to  another.  Here  and  there,  a  strange 
face,  sober  at  the  newness  of  it,  stared 
watchfully,  perhaps  with  a  hint  of  wistful- 
ness,  at  the  sunny  chatterboxes  so  envia- 
bly initiated. 

A  whisper  from  Rachel  was  at  my  ear : 
"  The  Superior  Girl  is  almost  haughty 
enough  to  be  shy." 

Taking  the  hint  given  by  a  flutter  of 
eyelids,  I  looked  across  the  aisle  directly 
into  a  pair  of  gray  eyes  gazing  level  under 
straight  brows  with  calm  impersonal  inter- 
est in  the  caught  whisper.  Inevitably 
equal  to  emergencies,  Rachel  gave  her  a 
frank  smile  expressive  of  boundless  kind- 
liness. The  girl  seemed  to  stiffen,  and, 
barely  acknowledging  the  gracious  patron- 
age, hastily  changed  the  direction  of  her 
glances,  just  as  a  preparatory  rustle  swept 
through  the  car  at  sight  of  the  long  hedge 
backed  by  familiar  evergreens. 


178  Vassar  Studies 

Sliding  along  swiftly  under  the  row  of 
maples,  the  car  came  to  a  stop  at  the 
Lodge  gates.  Then  a  slow  crowding-out, 
and  dribbling  off  in  twos  and  threes  up 
the  straight  length  of  evergreen-bordered 
avenue  to  the  great  building  beautiful 
in  the  crimson  and  scarlet  of  its  wood- 
bine. 

As  we  entered  the  Main,  Rachel,  touch- 
ing my  shoulder,  nodded  toward  the  broad 
marble  staircase.  The^  Superior  Girl,  ap- 
parently disdaining  to  follow  us  into  the 
gloom  of  the  lower  corridor,  was  mounting 
the  steps  in  solitary  state.  "  I  am  afraid 
that  she  knows  it  all,"  murmured  my  com- 
panion sadly.  And  then,  with  an  ecstatic 
little  series  of  shriek-and-run-and-hug-and- 
kiss,  half  a  dozen  previous  arrivals  had 
fallen  upon  us,  and  we  were  all  talking  at 
once.  Who  has  come  ?  and  when  are  the 
others  coming  ?  and  have  you  had  a  lovely 
summer  ?  and  is  n't  it  nice  to  be  back  ?  and 
there  are  oceans  of  freshmen  around,  and 
the  juniors  are  mostly  in  Strong  Hall, 
and  the  apples  are  all  gathered  from  the 
orchards,  and  oh,  has  your  luggage  come  ? 


A  Superior  Young  Woman    179 

and  here  are  some  welcome  letters  waiting 
for  you. 

Escorted  through  the  corridors  lined 
with  trunks  and  packing-boxes,  we  discov- 
ered that  some  friends  had  placed  bowls 
of  nasturtiums  in  our  rooms,  and  collected 
our  stray  chairs  and  china.  At  the  strik- 
ing of  the  dinner-gong,  a  journey  full  of 
laughter  down  to  the  dining-room,  in  a 
long  line,  arms  over  shoulders  ;  and  when 
opposite  the  entrance  a  crowd  of  new- 
comers trooping  in  with  satchels  and  um- 
brellas. Then  a  sudden  breaking  of  line, 
and  new  shrieks  and  running,  and  shaking 
hands  with  some,  and  not  shaking  hands 
with  others  because  somehow  our  arms 
had  slipped  away  around  behind  their 
necks. 

At  dinner,  after  we  were  seated  at  a 
table  in  the  middle  row  reserved  for 
seniors,  Rachel  announced,  "  There  she 
comes." 

Advancing  down  the  room-  in  a  digni- 
fied rigidity  of  self-possession,  the  Superior 
Girl  came  straight  toward  a  vacant  chair 
beside  my  friend.  With  a  slight  bow  she 


i8o  Vassar  Studies 

appropriated  the  seat.  Before  I  could 
think  of  some  cordial  word  for  the  stran- 
ger, Rachel  was  introducing  her.  "  Permit 
me,"  graciously ;  "  I  feel  as  if  I  know  you 
from  having  seen  your  name  on  your 
trunk.  You  have  reached  this  table  just 
in  time  to  keep  me  from  being  lonely. 
They  are  all  seniors  except  you  and 
me." 

The  girl's  smile  was  faint,  and  faded 
quickly,  while  her  eyes  seemed  to  grow 
more  icily  blue  every  minute.  She  spoke 
not  at  all  beyond  monosyllables,  and  then 
with  apparent  effort  and  an  air  of  aloof- 
ness. 

On  our  way  up-stairs  to  chapel,  Rachel 
pretended  to  shiver.  "  I  am  chilled 
through  and  through,"  she  complained ; 
"  that  young  woman  is  even  more  superior 
than  I  was  when  I  entered.  Do  you  sup- 
pose -  -  oh,  do  you  suppose  -  -  that  she 
will  condescend  to  converse  with  the 
professors  E" 

The  following  day  was  appallingly  busy 
with  "  getting  settled  "-  —boxes  to  be  un- 
packed, trunks  to  be  hunted  up,  step-lad- 


A  Superior  Young  Woman    181 

ders  to  be  kidnapped,  tack-hammers  to  be 
borrowed,  pictures  to  be  hung,  curtains  to 
be  draped,  and  perhaps  a  trip  down-town 
to  be  taken  for  the  purchase  of  extra  brass 
rings  or  window-shades  or  a  couch-frame. 
Between  times  a  journey  to  the  grocery 
in  the  rear  to  lay  in  a  supply  of  sugar  and 
chocolate  and  wafers,  or  a  dash  into  the 
stationery  shop  to  order  text-books.  And 
every  little  while  in  the  headlong  rush,  a 
pause  long  enough  to  shake  hands  with  a 
teacher  or  a  professor,  to  bow  to  an  un- 
derclassman, to  chat  benignantly  to  a 
freshman  just  introduced,  or  to  cast  aside 
dignity  in  rapturous  haste  to  greet  some 
late-arriving  classmate. 

At  dusk,  Rachel,  successful  in  a  raid 
after  picture  hooks,  came  in  with  her  eyes 
brimming  with  enjoyment.  "  I  met  her 
by  the  bulletin  board.  She  is  beginning 
to  unbend.  She  asked  me  to  come  to  see 
her  because  I  must  find  it  lonely  these 
first  few  days." 

"  And  you  an  unapproachable  junior ! " 

"  I  wonder  what  seniors  she  intends  to 

include   among  her  acquaintances.      Oh, 


1 82  Vassar  Studies 

we  are  going  to  be  very  select,  my  dear, 
and  probably  we  shall  join  '  Dickens '  and 
'  Shakespeare,'  and  be  president  of  the 
freshman  class,  and  head  editor  of  the 
Miscellany,  and  chairman  of  the  Phil,  com- 
mittee, if  the  girls  beg  hard  enough,  and 
we  shall  win  the  championship  in  golf  and 
tennis,  provided  that  we  consider  it  worth 
while  to  enter  the  tournament,  and  if  we 
decide  to  exert  ourself  in  studying,  look 
out  for  the  college  records.  We,  my  dear, 
happen  to  be  a  remarkably  superior  per- 
son." 

That  evening,  when  I  lingered  on  the 
stairs  to  watch  the  students  thronging  out 
from  chapel,  I  spied  the  erect  young  fresh- 
man, while  making  her  way  through  the 
chattering,  laughing  groups  which  were 
blockading  the  corridor,  come  suddenly 
upon  Rachel.  The  junior's  bow  was  un- 
doubtedly somewhat  too  beaming  for  mere 
good-will  untainted  by  amusement.  At 
sight  of  her,  a  swift  quiver  like  a  shadow 
swept  over  the  freshman's  face,  leaving  it 
set  in  haughtily  indifferent  lines.  Her 
nod  was  almost  imperceptible. 


A  Superior  Young  Woman    183 

Rachel  looked  up  at  me,  and  began  to 
shiver  violently. 

The  next  morning,  which  was  Sunday, 
Rachel  and  I  seized  the  hour  before  church 
time  for  a  saunter  through  the  grounds. 
Out  to  the  gardens  spicy  with  autumn 
scents.  On  the  basket-ball  courts,  the 
spots  worn  bare  last  spring  around  the 
posts  have  grown  thinly  green.  Fragrant 
afar,  the  tuberoses  stand  in  tall  white 
ranks ;  marigolds,  cheerfully  gorgeous, 
line  the  farther  curve  of  walk  ;  nastur- 
tiums blaze  from  carpets  of  foliage  freshly 
green  from  the  rain  of  the  equinoctial 
storm.  Buds  are  forming  on  the  hardy 
chrysanthemums  and  the  sprawling,  feath- 
ery-sprayed cosmos.  The  few  pansies 
which  have  survived  the  drought  of  sum- 
mer hold  up  big  rich-tinted  blossoms. 

Down  toward  the  lake  we  strolled, 
where  goldenrod  in  corners  and  purple 
asters  sheltered  in  angles  of  the  stone  wall 
tempted  us  to  thoughts  of  country  ram- 
bles and  speculations  concerning  woody 
nooks  where  fringed  gentians  grow.  In 
the  field  toward  the  rink,  here  and  there 


1 84  Vassar  Studies 

an  ancient  daisy  brought  memory  of  white- 
starred  June.  Sturdy  spikes  of  butter- 
and-eggs  usurped  the  meadows  belonging 
in  spring  to  buttercups.  Through  the 
evergreen  walk,  and  a  pause  by  the  ruined 
bridge  to  inspect  the  two  chestnut  trees 
beyond,  and  calculate  upon  frosts  and 
winds. 

"  Are  you  planning  to  show  your  socia- 
ble freshman  where  the  biggest  chestnuts 
grow,  Rachel?"  I  asked,  idly  talka- 
tive. 

"  I  don't  dare,"  under  her  breath  in  mock 
terror ;  "  I  'm  '  scared  '  for  fear  she  won't 
bow  when  next  we  meet." 

At  the  word,  from  around  the  curve  of 
shaded  path  appeared  the  Superior  Girl. 
,She  was  walking  swiftly  with  strong,  free 
step,  and  an  alertness  of  interest  in  trees 
and  birds  which  argued  self-sufficiency  so 
far  as  concerned  human  companionship. 
Coolly  her  unseeing  eyes  swept  the  vicin- 
ity of  the  two  loitering  by  the  brook  within 
range  of  ordinary  vision. 

Rachel  turned  to  me.  "  Is  my  hat  on 
straight  ?  Oh  !  is  it  ?  "  in  anxious  tones ; 


A  Superior  Young  Woman    185 

"  since  we  are  part  of  the  landscape,  at 
least  let  us  be  decorative." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her  when  she  has 
developed  into  a  senior,"  I  said,  sending  a 
half,  wistful  thought  before  her  through 
the  four  care-free  years. 

"  Why  don't  you  look  at  me  ? "  inquired 
my  comrade  absently,  as  we  passed  on 
toward  the  glen  ;  "  when  I  entered  college, 
I  also  was  a  superior  girl — on  the  high- 
way to  developing  into  a  superior  young 
woman — and  now  you  see  what  I  have 
become — an  average  girl." 

"  What  a  tragedy  ! "  with  a  comprehen- 
sive glance  at  the  distinguished-looking 
girl  beside  me. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  she  assented  ;  "  and  I 
might  have  been  so  perfect ! " 

"Well,"  watching  her  sidewise,  "what 
is  lacking  now  ?  " 

A  slow  laugh  shone  out :  "  What  a  criti- 
cism !  But  such  is  the  understanding  of 
those  we  call  our  friends,"  with  resignation. 

"  Of  course,"  I  persisted,  "  you  have 
grown  older."  I  did  not  add,  as  I  might 
have  done,  that  she  had  also  grown  more 


1 86  Vassar  Studies 

womanly  through  a  softening  of  self-as- 
sertive angles.  I  remembered  in  her,  as 
a  freshman,  a  certain  intolerance,  lack  of 
sympathy,  and  hardness  in  judging  others. 

"  Older,"  she  repeated  ;  "  I  wonder  if  it 
is  growing  older,  or  if  it  is  coming  to 
college." 

"  I  came  to  college  once,"  I  ventured. 

"  You  ! "  she  laughed  again,  outright 
this  time,  and  so  gayly  that  a  squirrel 
twinkling  at  us  from  a  dead  stump  disap- 
peared precipitately ;  "  you  came  to  college, 
but  the  trouble  is  that  you  have  grown 
younger.  At  any  rate,  you  have  not  im- 
proved in  the  way  I  have." 

"Candid." 

Rachel  had  seated  herself  on  the  railing 
of  the  glen  bridge,  and  was  dropping  leaf 
after  leaf  into  the  water.  "  Never  mind," 
she  said  consolingly,  "you  were  not  so 
very  superior  when  you  entered."  After 
a  moment's  silence,  she  spoke  slowly : 
"  Ever  since  I  entered  college,  I  have 
been  learning  my  limitations — limitations 
of  body,  brain,  intellect,  temperament, 
character,  personality— 


A  Superior  Young  Woman     187 

"  Hold— enough  !  " 

"  When  I  entered  college —  See  here, 
I  am  afraid  that  you  will  think  that  I  was 
conceited." 

"  Don't  bother  to  discriminate  tenses." 

"Discriminate  tenses? — 'will  think '- 
'was  conceited.'     Villain  !  " 

"  Oh,  go  on,  sweetheart." 

"  Very  well,  when  I  entered  college,  I 
was  in  much  the  same  state  of  mind  that 
you  were  in  when  you  came — my  self- 
esteem  was  magnificent." 

"  Who  would  have  thought  it !  " 

"  Seriously,  you  know  what  I  mean. 
Many  of  the  girls  come  here  from  pre- 
paratory or  high  schools,  where  they  have 
shone  without  peers  in  their  respective 
orbits.  Valedictorian,  you  know,  show 
pupil,  pride  of  their  teachers,  and  all  that. 
Their  friends  bid  them  admiring  farewells, 
praying  them  not  to  let  college  change 
them.  Naturally  they  are  not  groaning 
in  dust  and  ashes  over  their  own  short- 
comings." 

"  Not  exactly." 

"  Having  been  praised  and  petted  and 


1 88  Vassar  Studies 

held  up  as  models  at  home  and  at  school, 
never  having  been  surpassed  by  their 
companions,  and  never  having  failed  in 
any  undertaking,  they  possess — well — a 
goodly  store  of  self-confidence." 

"  Perhaps,  Rachel,  the  narrative  would 
be  more  vivid  if  you  spoke  in  the  first 
person." 

"  The  second  might  answer  fully  as 
well." 

"  What  happened  to  your  stock  after 
you  arrived  ?  " 

"  Sad — sad — too  sad  for  tears  !  There- 
fore I  mourn  for  our  superior  young 
freshman  friend.  Shock  after  shock  of 
disillusionment,  until  on  Commencement 
Day, — wail,  wail,  weep  and  wail,  all  ye 
average  girls." 

"  Be  specific." 

Rachel  gathered  another  handful  of 
leaves.  "Behold  her  future -- black 
—  black  —  and  dripping  with  grief 
over  self-limitations.  First  she  will  learn 
By  the  way,  do  you  recollect  what 
occurs  shortly  after  the  Christmas  holi- 
days?" 


A  Superior  Young  Woman     189 

"  Mid-year  examinations." 

"  And  after  the  exams.  ?  " 

"  Flunk  notes." 

"  Presumably  you  speak  from  experi- 
ence. And  I — I  was  surprised." 

Cherishing  silence,  I  looked  sympa- 
thetic. 

"  The  professor  said,  '  Are  n't  you 
strong  ?  '  Now,  never  having  been  ill  or 
mentally  tired,  I  was  not  acquainted  with 
the  limits  of  physical  strength,  and  so  I 
answered  that  I  did  not  know.  The  pro- 
fessor turned  to  look  at  me — I  remem- 
ber just  how  she  swung  around  in  her 
swivel  chair  —  and  said,  'Suppose  you 
experiment  a  little  in  that  direction.'  And 
so  I  experimented."  Rachel's  face  was 
pensive. 

"  Are  you  strong?" 

Her  eyes  resting  on  me  were  serious, 
while  her  lips  smiled.  "  I  am  about  as 
strong  as  the  average  girl." 

A  note  of  what  might  have  been  tragedy 
in  a  more  ambitious  nature  sounded  here. 
Rachel  turned  again  to  her  play  as  Jack 
Frost.  "Once,  in  the  high  school, a  stupid, 


1 90  Vassar  Studies 

pretty  little  thing  confided  to  me  the  dis- 
covery that  some  people,  no  matter  how 
hard  they  study,  are  unable  to  excel 
others."  After  a  moment's  intentness  in 
watching  a  red  maple  leaf  circle  toward 
the  water,  "  I  made  the  same  discovery  at 
college." 

"  Is  excelling  others  different  from  ac- 
complishing excellent  work  ?  " 

The  laugh  was  frankly  genuine.  "It 
was  not  different  in  my  case.  You  should 
have  seen  me  study  that  second  semester. 
I  worked  some  days  until  my  head  ached, 
and  my  hands  shook,  and  the  slightest 
rustle  made  me  jump  as  if  shot.  On  the 
day  of  a  written  test,  I  felt  as  if  a  band 
was  tight  about  my  head,  and  ideas  kept 
slipping  away  from  me  as  beads  roll  off  a 
loose  string.  I  learned  the  meaning  of 
cant" 

We  started  up  the  steep  path  to  Sun- 
set Hill.  "  Once,"  my  companion  con- 
tinued, "  I  fell  when  playing  basket-ball, 
and  somebody  stumbled  over  me.  I  could 
not  catch  my  breath.  I  tried,  and  I  could 
not — could  not,  you  know." 


A  Superior  Young  Woman     191 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"  That  poor  young  freshman  !  Think 
of  her  struggling  to  comprehend  the  prob- 
lems of  Life  and  Death,  the  System  of 
the  Universe,  Plato's  Theory  of  Ideas, 
and  the  question  of  Achilles  and  the  Tor- 
toise. Vainly  will  she  strive  to  define 
Time ;  hopelessly  will  she  grapple  with 
Free  Will  and  Predestination  ;  despair- 
ingly will  she  wrestle  to  comprehend  the 
nth  power  of  x,  and  the  square  root  of  a 
negative  one." 

"  Could  n't  you  understand  those  little 
things?" 

"  Miserable  me  !  "  From  the  seat  un- 
der the  evergreens  upon  the  hilltop,  we 
were  gazing  far  away  across  brown  fields 
to  the  mountains  blue  against  the  pale 
sky.  Rachel's  eyes  had  fallen  to  the  Ridge, 
where  dark  spikes  of  firs  set  off  the  splen- 
dor of  its  autumn  coloring.  "  Another 
limitation.  Cedar  Ridge  means  to  me 
rocks  and  trees,  and  spring  flowers,  and  it 
is  pleasing  to  the  sight.  But  why  don't  I 
love  it?  And  there  is  music  too.  If  I 
have  a  comfortable  seat  and  an  easy  mind, 


192  Vassar  Studies 

I  enjoy  music.  But  --  oh,  well,  that 
poor  freshman  will  find  out  that  there  are 
limitations  to  her  capacity  for  suffering 
and  enjoying,  and  to  her  sympathy,  and 
her  unselfishness,  and  her  forbearance,  and 
a  few  other  things.  She  will  discover 
that  she  has  been  a  model  because  she  has 
never  been  tempted,  and  that  she  has 
had  a  reputation  for  sweetness  of  disposi- 
tion because  she  has  never  been  tried. 
And  worst  of  all,  she  will  learn "  -  a 
pause. 

"What?" 

"  It.  is  not  so  bad  when  you  do  wrong 
against  your  will,  but  when  you  will  to  do 
wrong !  " 

"  Tell  me  about  it." 

"  Pshaw!"  jumping  up,  "this  bench  is 
all  angles.  It  was  nothing,  except  that  I 
knew  I  should  not  do  it,  but  I  wanted  to, 
and  so  I  did.  It  was  a  corruption  of  will. 
And  then  I  persuaded  myself  that  I  had 
done  right.  I  can  deceive  myself." 

Silently  we  passed  out  from  under  the 
evergreens  upon  the  free  curve  of  the  hill. 
Sloping  fields  on  every  side,  with  the 


A  Superior  Young  Woman     193 

orchard  below  us,  and  the  brook  seeming 
to  rest  on  its  slow  way  across  the  sunny 
meadow. 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  I  said,  "  if 
it  is  simply  growing  older." 

"  No,"  spoke  Rachel  decisively,  "  it  is 
coming  to  college.  You  overlook  the 
fact  that  I  kept  on  growing  older  all  the 
years  at  home.  It  was  not  until  I  came 
to  college,  where  there  is  such  boundless 
scope  for  endeavor,  and  such  inimitable 
opportunities  for  comparison " 

"  You  forget,"  I  hinted,  "  that  you 
are  still  at  college.  You  are  only  a 
junior." 

From  behind  the  screening  evergreens 
across  the  brook  came  the  faint  clangor  of 
a  gong.  We  quickened  our  steps  until 
the  sight  of  the  familiar  red  walls  coaxed 
our  pace  to  a  contemplative  saunter. 

"  Year  after  year  I  watch  with  ghoulish 
glee  this  old  institution  swallowing  up  su- 
perior young  women,  and  grinding  out 
average  girls,"  chanted  Rachel, — "  the 
tyranny  of  fact,  the  tyranny  of  fact !  " 

"  And  so  you  think  that  the  career  of 


194  Vassar  Studies 

that  freshman  will  be  a  duplicate  of 
yours  ?  " 

"  Only  more  so.  When  I  entered,  I 
was  not  quite  so  haughty  and  self-suffi- 
cient ;  I  sometimes  dispensed  with  the 
ceremony  of  introduction  in  the  case  of 
anxious  aspirants.  I  never  '  cut '  people." 

"  Is  that  an  argument  pro  or  con  your 
claim  to  less  superiority  ?  " 

"  I  never  answer  foolish  questions" — se- 
verely. 

"  Quoth  the  average  girl !" 

"  The  process  is  not  yet  complete," 
laughed  my  comrade  ;  "  wait  until  I  am  a 
senior." 

As  we  turned  into  the  long  corridor  of 
the  Main  Building,  we  spied  far  away  a 
remarkably  erect  figure  pausing  at  the 
mail-chute.  "  It  might  be  interesting," 
murmured  Rachel,  "  to  read  that  letter." 

A  year  or  two  later,  by  a  "  fortuitous 
combination  of  circumstances,"  or,  in  other 
words,  an  extension  of  Rachel's  circle  of 
acquaintances,  she  was  shown  the  letter 
treasured  by  the  girl's  mother  among  the 
relics  of  her  daughter's  college  career. 


A  Superior  Young  Woman     195 

"  VASSAR  COLLEGE,  September  25th. 
"  MY  PRECIOUS  FAMILY  : 

"  Family  with  a  capital,  you  see,  because 
I  am  appreciating  more  and  more  the 
advantages  of  having  a  ready-made  reputa- 
tion and  position.  Here  we  are  an  aggre- 
gation of  units,  each  one  for  herself,  and 
'  I  care  for  nobody,  no  not  I,  and  nobody 
cares  for  me  ! '  We  are  like  wooden  images 
standing  up  sharply  in  the  public  gaze  with- 
out any  softening  background  of  relations. 
No  one  of  us  is  daughter  of  this,  grand- 
daughter of  that,  or  sister  of  somebody 
else  ;  we  are  simply  girls.  Of  course,  the 
situation  is  trying  on  those  who  have  lived 
so  far  in  the  reflected  glory  of  their  kins- 
men,— as  I  have  done.  I  know  that  I 
shall  disgrace  you  all — I,  your  stupid 
daughter,  the  black  sheep,  or  gray,  that 
is,  some  color  not  at  all  brilliant. 

"  When  I  first  came,  I  was  so  *  scared ' 
that  I  did  not  know  where  to  go  or  what 
to  do,  and  I  was  afraid  to  ask,  because 
everybody  seemed  to  know  everything, 
and  they  all  hurried  along  as  if  they  had 
no  time  to  help  strangers,  So  I  screwed 


196  Vassar  Studies 

up  the  wee  bit  of  courage  which  I  bor- 
rowed from  '  you  all,'  and  stood  up  straight, 
as  I  have  been  taught,  and  shuffled  ahead. 
It  was  not  so  bad  getting  to  the  college, 
except  that  some  girls  noticed  that  I  was 
decidedly  a  freshman.  One  of  them  was 
saying  something  interesting  about  su- 
perior girls,  and  I  was  listening  in  the 
greenest  way,  when  they  both  looked 
straight  at  me.  I  saw  them  smile.  Sink- 
ing through  the  floor  would  have  been  too 
slow  a  mode  of  exit ;  I  longed  at  the  very 
least  for  spontaneous  combustion. 

"  At  the  college,  there  were  students  on 
duty  to  escort  us  to  the  Principal,  and 
show  us  our  rooms.  (Considering  that 
you  have  been  here,  I  thankfully  omit  de- 
scriptions. Already  this  morning  I  have 
expatiated  in  three  different  letters  upon 
the  woodbine-covered  buildings,  the  lawns, 
the  evergreens,  the  lake,  the  hills,  and  the 
gardens.)  The  trouble  came  in  when  the 
gong  struck  for  dinner.  As  I  did  not 
know  where  to  sit,  I  took  the  first  empty 
place  I  saw.  And  just  think !  It  was  a 
senior  table  !  Was  n't  that  awful  ?  I 


A  Superior  Young  Woman     197 

hardly  dared  to  open  my  mouth  except  to 
eat — and  not  much  for  that — but  the  girls 
were  lovely  to  me.  One  of  them  told  me 
that  all  the  rest  were  seniors.  I  took  her 
for  another  freshman  (idiot  that  I  am), 
and  invited  her  to  come  to  see  me.  That 
was  the  most  awful  break — a  freshman 
patronizing-  a  junior  !  You  see,  I  thought 
that  she  was  lonely,  because  she  kept 
looking  at  me  in  a  sympathetic  way  as  if 
we  were  in  the  same  predicament — cats  in 
a  strange  garret,  so  to  speak. 

"  She  impresses  me  as  a  type  of  the 
superior  young  woman — physical  distinc- 
tion added  to  perfect  self-possession  and 
graciousness  of  manner,  undoubtedly  with 
intellectual  ability.  She  always  seems  to 
be  mistress  of  circumstances.  As  for  me, 
I  was  dreadfully  afraid  that  when  I  saw 
her  next  after  my  mighty  blunder  I  should 
lose  all  self-control,  and  turn  and  run. 
However,  I  faced  it  out,  though  my  knees 
almost  succeeded  in  carrying  me  off  on  a 
terrified  trot.  I  saw  her  again  by  a  brook 
this  morning,  but  I  did  not  look  at  her. 
It  is  so  much  easier,  when  you  are  embar- 


198  Vassar  Studies 

rassed,  to   pretend  that  you  do   not    see 
people. 

"It  appears  to  me  from  comments  over- 
heard that  every  girl  is  the  flower  of  her 
adoring  family.  Imagine  my  heart  sink- 
ing clear  down  to  my  heels  whenever  it 
gets  a  chance  to  leave  my  throat.  Would 
you  be  much  disappointed  if  I  should  give 
it  all  up,  and  fly  away  home  to  you  dear 
indulgent  people  ?  You  understand  how 
to  deal  out  allowance  for  my  runaway 
temper,  my  talent  for  making  mistakes, 
and  my  brain  in  its  '  normal  state  of 
muddle.' 

"  Almost  time  for  church  services. 
Don't  worry  about  me,  because  I  am  not 
in  the  least  homesick.  And — who  knows  ? 
—perhaps  if  I  stay  here  awhile  associating 
with  these  fine  girls,  I  may  absorb  a  little 
brilliancy  and  charm  and  strength  of  char- 
acter. Just  fancy — would  n't  it  be  fun  if 
college  should  evolve  a  superior  young- 
woman 

"  From  your  ordinary 

"  DAUGHTER." 


IX 

THAT  ATHLETIC   GIRL1 


THAT  athletic  girl  puzzles  me.  In  spite 
of  the  frivolous  way  in  which  she  goes 
laughing  through  her  freshman  days  (and 
she  looks  pretty  well  when  she  laughs),  she 
impresses  me  as  a  naturally  joyous  tem- 
perament overshadowed  by  some  impend- 
ing calamity.  In  chapel,  nestling  up  into 
a  corner  of  the  pew,  she  watches  every- 
thing with  deep  solemn  eyes.  Often  I 
notice  her  lingering  with  a  hopeless  face 
outside  the  algebra  class-room.  Some- 
thing which  happened  to-day  has  strength- 
ened my  suspicions. 

As  I  was  strolling  around  the  gardens 
in  the  shadow  of  the  evergreens,  contem- 

1  Printed  in  the  Vassarion  of  1896. 
199 


200  Vassar  Studies 

plating  the  new  moon  above  the  fading 
sunset  glow,  there  was  a  sound  of  quick 
breathing,  a  soft  swish  of  pine-needles, 
and  something  in  a  kilted  skirt  and  sweater 
darted  to  my  side.  "  Oh,"  panted  a  girl's 
voice,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  alone  ! 
Perhaps  you  did  not  understand — how 
it  happened.  But — when  I  tell  you — it 
is  hereditary — you  will  help  me.  I  will 
try — I  will  work — no  one  must  know." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Oh  ! "  her  face  flashed  around  into 
mine,  and  blazed  with  swift  color.  "  I 
thought  you  were  somebody  else." 

II 

I  was  leaning  out  of  my  window,  trying 
to  decide  whether  the  earth's  satellite  was 
two-thirds  or  three-quarters  full,  and  mean- 
while reflecting  that  in  my  freshman  year 
I  would  rapturously  have  written  in  my 
diary  :  "  A  glorious  moon,  sailing  aloft  in 
the  dark  blue  sky,  is  turning  the  little 
clouds  to  silver."  At  that  time,  also,  I 
used  to  rave  over  the  "  splendor  of  woman- 
hood," and  this  "  white  beautiful  world  "  ; 


That  Athletic  Girl  201 

now,  I  occasionally  allude  to  the  college 
woman,  or  mention  the  fact  that  it  has 
been  snowing. 

As  I  was  beginning  to  blush  at  the 
recollection,  I  heard  that  athletic  girl's 
gym  shoes  race  up  to  my  door.  She 
burst  in  with  such  a  waste  of  valuable  en- 
ergy that  I  felt  like  collapsing  into  the 
nearest  chair  to  emphasize  repose  of  man- 
ner. (I  fear  that  she  has  not  yet  learned 
to  save  superfluous  vigor  for  examination 
week.) 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  cried,  "  but 
have  you  anything  good  to  eat — jelly 
or  olives  or  crackers  ?  If  I  grow  much 
hungrier,  I  shall  become  desperately  blue." 

There  is  a  point.  The  very  fact  that 
she  connects  so  early  in  her  college  career 
a  physical  state  with  a  mental  attitude, 
argues  an  abnormal  intelligence.  I  won- 
der if  that  hereditary  blight,  which  she 
mentioned  so  inadvertently  the  first  time 
we  met,  has  anything  to  do  with  the  brain. 
Certainly  her  choice  of  articles  for  con- 
sumption is  a  proof  of  mental  obliquity 
— jelly,  olives,  crackers  !  At  the  table  she 


202  Vassar  Studies 

never  takes  rice-pudding,  and  for  break- 
fast she  eats  sugar  with  a  little  oatmeal 
under  it. 

She  has  an  engagement  with  some 
senior  three  times  a  week.  Probably  it  is 
to  make  fudges. 

Ill 

That  girl  is  positively  shallow.  I  can- 
not see  why  everybody  insists  on  liking 
her,  unless  it  is  because  of  her  attitude 
toward  life.  (The  aim  of  the  college 
course  is  to  teach  criticism  of  the  world, 
others,  and  ourselves  ;  she  has  not  even 
begun  the  lesson.) 

This  afternoon  she  caught  up  to  me  in 
the  corridor,  and  flung  her  arm,  boy- 
fashion,  over  my  shoulders  --  my  shoul- 
ders— my  senior  shoulders  (and  I  believe 
in  individuals  walking  like  separate  per- 
sonalities, each  surrounded  with  its  own 
untouched  atmosphere).  A  questioning 
smile  concealed  the  wonder  if  she  could 
feel  the  calcium  hardening  in  my  bones. 
She  said  :  "  I  am  blue.  The  remedy  is 
nature.  Take  me  to  see  the  sunset." 


That  Athletic  Girl  203 

As  I  stood  somewhat  apart  from  her  on 
the  hilltop,  with  a  volume  of  Browning 
open  in  my  hands,  I  saw  that  girl — while 
the  sun  was  setting  in  floods  of  gold  above 
the  blue  hills — I  saw  that  girl  take  a  chest- 
nut out  of  her  pocket,  and  pensively  eat  it ! 

On  the  way  home,  she  said  :  "  What  did 
it  make  you  think  of  ?  I  kept  thinking 
all  the  time,  Let  x  equal  the  number  of 
sunsets  from  now  until  the  first  Saturday 
in  December,  and  then  I  seemed  to  feel 
the  formula  :  One  divided  by  infinity  is 
zero." 

Struck  by  the  poetry  of  her  thought,  I 
endeavored  to  forget  that  chestnut.  "Yes," 
she  went  on  meditatively,  "  one  equals 
me  ;  infinity  equals  the  amount  of  study  I 
must  do  ;  zero  equals  the  result  of  the 
examination." 

I  looked  at  her. 

"And  then  I  wondered,"  she  continued, 
"  if  the  ice-cream  to-night  would  be  choco- 
late or  apricot.  The  flight  of  time  always 
reminds  me  of  weekly  ice-cream." 

I  cannot  help  hoping  that  that  chestnut 
was  wormy — just  a  little  wormy. 


204  Vassar  Studies 

IV 

That  girl  came  rushing  into  my  room 
like  a — like  a  person  with  a  firm  hold 
on  life — on  physical  life — and  dragged 
me  out  to  skate. 

"  You  are  morbid ! "  she  exclaimed. 
(Morbid!)  "You  have  been  writing 
poetry,  have  n't  you,  now  ?  I  see  it 
in  the  way  you  look  out  of  your  eyes. 
Come,  exercise  is  the  remedy  for  morbid 
blues." 

There  is  something  taking  about  that 
girl.  (I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  be- 
cause she  has  not  yet  learned  to  mount 
neat  cross-sections  of  her  heart  under  a 
mental  microscope,  or  because  she  looks 
so  well  in  her  gym  suit.)  I  watched  her 
skate — every  movement  instinct  with  life, 
the  red  of  her  cap  catching  the  tint  of  her 
cheeks,  her  eyes  reflecting  the  blue  of  the 
sky,  and  sunny  curls  blowing  (curls  are  by 
no  means  intellectual).  I  was  pondering 
over  that  hereditary  mystery.  She  cer- 
tainly has  no  physical  defects. 

When  my  ankles  were  tired,  I  stood 
near  the  ashes  of  last  night's  bonfire,  and 


That  Athletic  Girl  205 

tried  to  imagine  the  history  of  each  black- 
ened brand. 

"  Think  of  the  green  living  tree  this 
was  once,"  I  began,  "  with  birds  singing 
in  its  branches,  and  leaves  dancing  on  its 
limbs,  and  breezes  whispering  to  it.  And 
now — look — 

"  Make  it  a  tense  of  momentary  ac- 
tion," she  broke  in.  "  Come,  skate  up  the 
lake  with  me.  I  am  the  cure  for  senti- 
mental blues." 

Sentimental !  —  / — sentimental ! ! — I— 
sentimental !  !  / 

Upon  the  whole,  I  believe  that  that 
athletic  girl  is  mentally  defective. 


I  have  misjudged  that  girl.  When  she 
refused  to  go  to  the  asylum  for  the  insane 
(she  calls  it  insane  asylum — so  inaccurate 
in  her  use  of  words  !)  with  the  class  in  so- 
cial science,  I  decided  that  she  was  afraid 
of  the  deep  problems  of  life.  She  said 
that  the  "  institution  smell  of  sud-soaked 
floors  "  (see  Warner's  American  Charities) 
made  her  blue,  and  she  was  out  of  the 


206  Vassar  Studies 

remedy  for  that  variety — sweet  violets. 
She  has  never  shown  a  scholarly  attitude 
toward  the  broadening  of  her  intellectual 
horizon.  I  left  her  in  a  chaos  of  paper 
and  pencils,  xs  andjj/s,  addition,  subtrac- 
tion, multiplication,  and  division.  She  ap- 
pears devoted  to  mathematics. 

The  asylum  made  me  resolve  to  demon- 
strate to  that  girl  the  inexcusableness  of 
blues  at  any  other  place.  One  woman 
was  pacing  back  and  forth,  her  hands 
clasped  behind  her,  her  head  dropped  on 
her  breast.  As  I  happened  to  pull  out 
my  handkerchief,  my  tin  spoon  fell  to  the 
floor.  (I  had  slipped  it  into  my  pocket 
that  morning,  when  I  found  that  girl  using 
it  to  scrape  sugar  out  of  a  candy  pan.)  At 
the  tinkle  of  its  fall,  the  woman  stopped 
short — then  darted  to  the  spoon,  and 
picked  it  up.  She  glanced  at  it,  and  then 
at  me,  and  her  eyes  looked  as  that  girl's 
do  when  she  is  trying  to  calculate  the 
purchasing  power  of  her  month's  allow- 
ance. Finally  the  woman  said  :  "  Give 
me  the  spoon.  It  reminds  me  of  home." 

I  thought  of  the  initials  scratched  on 


That  Athletic  Girl  207 

the  spoon,  and  of  all  they  meant  to  me  ; 
then  I  looked  at  the  long  sunless  corri- 
dors, the  dull  eyes,  the  heavy  faces,  and, 
realizing  the  hopelessness  of  their  lives 
there,  I  gave  her  the  spoon. 

She  smiled, — and  suddenly  I  under- 
stood :  the  same  smile — only  wrinkled, 
the  same  eyes — only  shifting.  That  girl's 
hereditary  blight ! 

VI 

That  girl  has  not  sufficient  mental  abil- 
ity to  manage  the  conduct  of  life  without 
moral  standards.  When  she  read  the  first 
chapter  in  my  senior  ethics  (old  moral 
standards  are  demolished  in  that  chapter, 
and  new  ones — only  they  are  the  same  as 
the  others — are  constructed  in  the  last), 
she  straightway  lost  all  regard  for  author- 
ity and  order — even  for  the  rising  gong. 
That  is  what  spoiled  my  trip  to  New  York 
—that  irresponsibility  of  hers. 

On  that  particular  morning,  the  senior 
who  had  intended  to  go  to  the  theatre 
with  me  was  taken  ill  with  the  kind  of 
tonsillitis  that  breaks  out ;  and  I  asked 


2o8  Vassar  Studies 

that  athletic  girl  to  go  in  her  place.  At 
the  station  she  bought  a  local  newspaper 
instead  of  studying  character  (she  is  so 
neglectful  of  the  grand  opportunities  for 
self-culture).  The  through  express  had 
thundered  to  a  vibrating  pause,  and  we 
had  found  seats  on  the  river  side  of  the 
car.  We  were  comfortably  settled,  with 
no  perceptible  breeze  ruffling  our  hair,  and 
the  curtain  just  high  enough.  That  girl 
glanced  at  the  paper — then  darted  out  of 
the  car,  and  dashed  through  the  waiting- 
room.  The  train  pulled  out.  I  looked 
at  the  page  she  had  scanned.  In  bold 
head-lines  I  saw,  "  Escape  of  Five  Insane 
Patients." 

Instantly  I  comprehended  everything— 
that  insane  woman — escape — that  athletic 
girl !     The  poor  child  !     The  thought  of 
her  troubled  me  all  day. 

I  had  given  her  both  our  theatre  tickets 
to  carry. 

VII 

I  am  never  blue.     Occasionally  I  realize 
that  nothing  is  worth  the  trouble  it  costs  ; 


That  Athletic  Girl  209 

at  such  times  I  dress  in  my  most  becom- 
ing clothes.  (It  is  a  well-known  fact  that 
each  individual  is  born  into  this  world  to 
cherish  and  watch  over  his  own  precious 
self.  By  making  himself  as  sweet  and 
agreeable  as  possible,  therefore,  he  puts 
himself  into  better  relations  with  life.) 

At  twilight  I  was  out  walking — in  my 
best  clothes.  (To-day's  newspaper  con- 
tained an  account  of  the  capture  of  the 
escaped  insane  patients,  and  a  description 
of  a  key  made  by  one  of  them  out  of  clock 
wire  and  a  tin  spoon.)  As  I  plodded 
around  the  gardens,  I  saw  that  girl  dan- 
cing a  horn-pipe  on  a  pile  of  dry  leaves. 
Darting  up  to  me,  she  flung  both  arms 
around  my  best  collar.  "  Oh,"  she  cried, 
"  I  got  through  !  I  got  through  all  right ! " 

I  walked  on,  waiting  for  further  develop- 
ments. She  skipped  along  at  my  side. 
(Expression  of  emotion  is  essentially  un- 
dignified.) 

"  What  if  I  had  not  happened  to  see 
the  date  on  that  paper  Saturday  ? "  she 
rattled.  "  I  had  forgotten.  I  reached  the 
college  just  in  time." 


210  Vassar  Studies 

"In  time  for  what?" 

"  The  second  examination  in  entrance 
math.  And  I  got  through  !  I  got  through  ! 
No  more  tutor  for  me  !  My  father  never 
could  do  mathematics.  It  is  an  hereditary 
blight.  But  I  got  through  !  I  got  through, 
I  tell  you — through,  through,  through  ! 

"  Here  's  to  good  old  Vassar, 
For  there  's  none  that  can  surpass  her, 
And  good-bye,  good-bye,  good-bye  to   entrance 
math!" 

She  disappeared  in  a  whirl  of  twinkling 
feet  and  breezy  hair. 

Well  —  I  have  always  suspected  the 
existence  of  a  mental  deficiency. 


X 

THE  GHOST  OF   HER  SENIOR   YEAR 

IT  was  Thursday  evening  of  Commence- 
ment week.  A  gray  sky  was  deepening 
into  purple  above  the  evergreens,  when 
Louise,  leaving  the  garden  paths,  wan- 
dered across  the  grassy  basket-ball  courts 
to  the  graceful  elm  in  the  centre  of  the 
Circle.  A  low  railing  constructed  for 
the  Class  Day  exercises  still  hemmed  in 
the  space  about  the  tree,  where  the  seniors 
had  gathered  to  bury  their  records  and 
sing  their  last  song.  Louise  stared  gloom- 
ily at  the  new  stone  slab  sunken  into  the 
freshly  turned  earth  at  her  feet.  It  had 
been  like  a  funeral — the  farewell  words, 
the  lowering  of  the  box  into  the  grave, 
the  casting  in  of  flowers  as  the  girls 
marched  past,  the  singing.  Louise  cleared 


212  Vassar  Studies 

her  throat ;  she  considered  that  the  verses 
had  been  sentimental.  It  was  hard  enough 
to  accept  the  fact  that  the  four  pleasant 
years  were  gone,  without  whimpering  over 
the  irrecoverable. 

Louise  winked  once  or  twice  while  her 
arm  slipped  around  the  tree  beside  her. 
The  sky  had  become  quite  purple  in  the 
twilight  and  the  evergreens  stretched  dark 
and  shadowy  along  the  broad  curve  of  the 
gardens.  Now  and  then  a  sleepy  twitter 
came  from  some  hidden  nest,  or  a  squir- 
rel's ".cheep"  sounded  in  the  yew  hedge. 
Louise  fell  into  a  reverie  with  her  cheek 
against  the  rough  bark. 

With  a  sigh  of  half-wistful  regret,  her 
fancy  roamed  back  to  her  first  year  at 
college.  Then  her  uncloyed  zest  of  de- 
light in  every  feature  of  the  new  life  had 
nourished  an  admiration  passionately  un- 
critical. Coming,  as  she  did,  from  a  noisy 
Western  city  which  spread  its  sooty  bulk 
over  a  treeless  prairie,  she  was  enraptured 
with  the  fresh  daintiness  of  the  garden- 
like  place  in  the  green  hill  country.  Every 
bud  and  bird  and  blossom  was  a  marvel  to 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  213 

her — the  clustering  woodbine  upon  the  old 
brick  walls,  the  level  stretches  of  lawn 
with  tree-shadows  falling  on  them,  the  lake 

o 

sparkling  in  its  setting  of  gold  and  scarlet, 
russet  and  brown,  the  long  avenues  of 
maples  with  yellow  leaves  drifting  down 
in  the  sunshine,  the  meadows,  fields,  and 
woods,  the  far-away  blue  hills,  even  the 
sky  and  the  clouds,  now  floating  high, 
pearly  white,  and  now,  purple  and  black, 
torn  and  driven  in  riotous  flight  before  a 
rollicking  wind — all  things  seemed  more 
beautiful  there  than  anywhere  else. 

The  manner  of  daily  living,  also,  was 
charming  to  her.  She  loved  the  pleasant 
routine  of  work  and  play,  the  regular 
hours,  the  intellectual  stimulus  of  the 
classroom,  the  wholesome  diversions  in- 
doors and  out,  and,  most  of  all,  she  re- 
joiced in  the  blithe  unconventionality  of 
social  intercourse.  At  home  she  had  sel- 
dom taken  her  head  out  of  a  book  except 
to  dream  ;  it  was  probably  due,  therefore, 
to  the  general  novelty  of  her  surroundings 
and  interests  at  college,  that,  emerging 
from  self-absorption,  she  entered  upon  a 


214  Vassar  Studies 

vivid  exaltation  of  the  people  around  her. 
With  an  enthusiastic  impartiality,  she  dis- 
covered that  every  student  was  pretty  and 
every  teacher  beautiful. 

Louise  raised  her  head  and  rubbed  the 
spot  on  her  cheek  where  the  rough  bark 
had  left  its  impress.  Lightly  her  thoughts 
passed  on  to  her  sophomore  year.  Then 
had  appeared  the  first  small  signs  of  dis- 
criminative power.  She  lost  the  nai've 
satisfaction  with  which  the  previous  spring 
she  had  been  wont  to  arrange  for  miscel- 
laneous distribution  saucers  full  of  many- 
tinted  flowers.  She  learned  that  not  all 
evergreens  are  pines,  and  that  there  are 
more  varieties  of  birds  than  can  be  desig- 
nated by  the  names  of  colors.  A  growing 
differentiation  of  intellectual  tastes  began 
to  interfere  with  her  former  strict  equita- 
bleness  in  the  division  of  time  among  her 
studies.  In  the  choice  of  recreations, 
also,  she  was  conscious  of  dawning  prefer- 
ences as  an  individual  in  place  of  catholic 
enjoyment  as  a  member  of  a  community. 
She  found  out  that  she  liked  basket-ball 
better  than  gymnasium  drill,  and  that 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  215 

skating  was  a  more  enjoyable  exercise 
than  either. 

The  relation,  however,  which  exhibited 
most  strikingly  the  development,  was  her 
attitude  toward  her  associates.  The  all- 
embracing  benevolence  of  her  faculty  for 
admiration  was  gradually  converted  into 
various  forms  and  degrees  of  appreciation. 
One  girl  she  respected  for  her  manner, 
and  another  for  her  mathematical  ability. 
As  for  the  Faculty,  although  her  awe  had 
become  less  distant,  her  regard  was  more 
sympathetic.  A  certain  childishness  of 
freshman  irresponsibility  had  given  place 
to  a  deepening  intellectual  seriousness. 
She  began  to  distinguish  sharply  between 
mental  and  physical  beauty. 

And  then  she  had  become  a  junior. 
Moving  a  few  steps,  Louise  sat  down  on 
an  edge  of  the  tiny  platform  built  for  the 
spade  orator,  and  rested  her  chin  on  her 
hands.  During  that  year  she  had  devel- 
oped into  a  critic.  She  dissected  the 
earthworm  ;  she  analyzed  the  element  of 
the  artistic  in  dogwood  blossoms ;  she 
studied  the  color  scheme  of  sunsets. 


216  Vassar  Studies 

Adopting  the  principle  of  selection,  she 
specialized  in  her  favorite  subjects  in  the 
college  curriculum.  She  experienced  an 
individualistic  instinct  of  rebellion  against 
the  dictatorship  of  bells — of  sleeping,  eat- 
ing, working,  walking,  at  the  striking  of  a 
gong.  The  question  of  exercise  and  rec- 
reation started  her  mind  on  an  investi- 
gation of  the  necessity  of  the  seesaw 
of  energy  and  exhaustion.  She  learned 
to  evolve  a  reason  for  each  action  and 
emotion. 

With  respect  to  the  people  about  her, 
she  attempted  to  classify  them  according 
to  manners,  nerves,  and  temperament. 
She  scrutinized  motives,  judging  every 
fault  and  virtue  with  scrupulous  regard 
for  the  personal  equation.  She  still  ap- 
proved of  physical  beauty,  and  paid  rever- 
ence to  intellectual  ;  but  her  deepest 
admiration  she  now  lavished  upon  moral 
worth. 

And  then  she  had  become  a  senior. 
The  girl's  mind,  which  had  flitted  rapidly 
over  the  first  three  years,  here  paused 
hesitatingly.  Something  distasteful  in  the 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  217 

memory  caused  her  to  stir  uneasily,  glan- 
cing vaguely  at  the  darkening  sky,  as  if 
the  pleasures  of  introspection  had  begun 
to  pall.  Her  senior  year —  All  at  once 
Louise  sprang  erect  at  the  sound  of  a 
rustle  behind  her.  Some  one  suddenly 
appearing  from  the  other  side  of  the  tree 
stopped  short  at  sight  of  Louise  with  a 
movement  like  the  frightened  flutter  of  a 
bird.  There  was  still  light  enough  to 
catch  a  startled  look  of  recognition,  be- 
fore the  newcomer  fled  swiftly  away 
without  a  word.  An  eager  bend  forward 
of  the  slight  figure,  as  it  glided  into  the 
dusk,  told  of  shy  haste  to  escape  follow- 
ing eyes.  From  under  lowered  brows 
Louise  watched  her  until  she  seemed  to 
melt  into  the  darkness.  That — and  her 
mouth  drooped  in  helpless  discomfort- 
that  was  the  ghost  of  her  senior  year. 

Slowly  Louise  walked  over  the  grass, 
in  the  direction  of  the  main  college  build- 
ing. Under  the  arched  gateway  of  the 
sombre  hedge,  she  turned  to  look  for  the 
last  time  at  the  shadowy  masses  of  the  ever- 
greens and  the  delicate  outline  of  the 


218  Vassar  Studies 

branching  elm.  As  she  gazed,  she  forgot 
to  weigh  and  calculate  and  consider  ;  she 
forgot  for  the  moment  the  novel  sting  of 
recently  learned  diffidence  ;  she  remem- 
bered only  that  she  loved  this  beautiful 
place,  and  that  she  must  leave  it.  The 
girl  stood  motionless  ;  she  had  not  the 
will  to  turn  away  ;  the  breath  of  June 
roses  blew  toward  her,  and  the  darkness 
gathered  more  densely  around.  Suddenly 
she  pulled  off  her  hat,  and  bent  her  head 
one  long  minute.  Then,  starting  away, 
she  ran  quickly  without  looking  back. 

In  the  dim  corridors  of  the  building, 
packing-boxes  were  ranged  desolately 
along  the  walls  in  a  lengthening  vista  of 
disorder.  Louise  hurried  on,  past  the 
dark  transoms  and  closed  doors  of  the 
first  floor,  to  the  second,  where  a  glowing 
oblong  of  light  here  and  there  down  the 
hall  proclaimed  the  presence  of  seniors  not 
yet  vanished  into  the  world. 

Pausing  at  the  reading-room  door,  she 
felt  a  dull  ache  at  sight  of  the  vacant 
chairs  prim  in  their  places  beside  the  dis- 
tressingly neat  array  of  magazines  and 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  219 

papers.  A  step  over  the  threshold  brought 
into  view  somebody  standing  by  a  table 
and  listlessly  fluttering  the  leaves  of  a 
pamphlet.  At  the  sound  of  Louise's  foot- 
falls, she  glanced  up,  and  as  quickly 
snatched  away  her  eyes.  Then,  as  if  un- 
der the  pressure  of  a  will  trained  to  habits 
of  politeness,  she  lifted  her  face  toward 
Louise  without  meeting  her  gaze,  and 
gave  her  a  curt  nod.  Louise  bowed  un- 
smilingly,  remembering  the  dismayed  look 
under  the  elm  tree  and  the  wordless  flight. 
And  was  this  to  be  the  end  of  her  senior 
year  ?  A  prescience  of  future  reveries 
hovering  reluctantly  about  the  unexplained 
discomfort  of  this  relation  persuaded  her 
to  make  a  straightforward  dash  into  the 
mystery,  dealing  with  words  only,  and 
thus  interpret  the  puzzle  springing  from 
manner.  But  at  the  first  movement  to- 
ward the  other,  who  seemed  poised  on 
the  defensive,  an  almost  imperceptible 
quiver,  eloquent  of  shrinking  before  her 
approach,  smote  Louise  with  a  sense  of 
utter  helplessness.  She  hesitated,  infected 
half  unconsciously  with  tongue-tying  em- 


220  Vassar  Studies 

barrassment.  Her  companion,  with  an  as- 
sumption of  sudden  interest  suspiciously 
excessive,  appeared  to  be  devouring  her 
pamphlet,  held  needlessly  close.  Louise 
turned  slowly  away. 

Out  again  in  the  deserted  corridor,  she 
stepped  languidly,  thinking  over  the  past 
year.  This  young  woman  had  entered 
college,  joining  the  senior  class,  the  pre- 
vious fall.  Louise  remembered  noticing 
with  careless  indifference,  when  the  new- 
comer first  came  to  her  table,  that  she 
looked  very  young  to  be  a  senior,  and 
that  she  acted  shy,  as  if  frightened  to  be 
among  so  many  strangers.  Soon,  how- 
ever, she  became  more  at  ease,  at  least  in 
manner,  and  displayed  a  spirit  of  bright 
fun  which  kept  the  girls  about  her  poised 
but  lightly  on  the  edge  of  seriousness. 
Attracted  by  the  laughter,  Louise  had 
sought  a  seat  near  her  at  dinner  ;  later,  in- 
terested in  the  apparently  contradictory 
traits  of  a  character  new  in  her  study  of 
human  nature,  she  had  set  zealously  to 
work  to  classify  this  member  of  a  novel 
species.  Louise  had  exerted  herself  to  be 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  221 

more  thorough  than  ever  before,  watch- 
ing every  word  and  action  of  the  helpless 
specimen,  analyzing  her  ideas,  dissecting 
her  motives,  interpreting  her  statements, 
probing  her  opinions,  judging  her  conduct, 
and  meanwhile,  scientifically  experimental, 
effecting  new  situations  and  emergencies 
as  tests  of  character.  The  final  result  of 
the  investigation  had  been  to  assign  the 
harmless  girl  to  a  class  by  herself  as  a 
human  being  almost  perfect. 

As  for  the  young  woman  under  consid- 
eration, she  had  rewarded  Louise's  interest 
with  shyly  guarded  sweetness  of  manner, 
changing  later  into  painful  self-conscious- 
ness, before  deepening  into  half-fascinated 
avoidance.  And  Louise  was  puzzled. 

In  her  abstraction,  oblivious  of  material 
difficulties,  she  stumbled  over  an  open 
trunk  beside  an  alley-way.  Glancing 
toward  the  room  at  the  end  of  the  alcove, 
she  spied,  amid  a  disorder  of  small  wooden 
boxes  on  the  floor  and  large  paper  boxes 
on  the  chairs,  a  girl  making  little  dabs  at 
her  eyes  with  a  wet  handkerchief,  while 
trying  to  fold  dress  skirts. 


222  Vassar  Studies 

"Oh,  Louise!"  she  exclaimed,  "where 
are  you  going  ?  Come  in  and  see  me  ;  it 
is  the  last  time." 

Louise  stood  in  the  doorway.  "  I  will 
be  down  later,"  she  said  ;  "  now  I  am  going 
to  make  parting  calls — gather  up  the 
loose  threads  of  my  relations  to  different 
people,  and  tie  them  into  neat  bow-knots 
of  farewell  speeches." 

"  Do  you  know  beforehand  what  you 
are  going  to  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes — all  analyzed  out.  To 
number  one  I  shall  say,  '  Thou  Beautiful ! 
thou  inspiration  of  admiration  ! '  To 
number  two,  '  O  Intellect !  thou  dost  sym- 
bolize to  me  the  deeper  joys  of  discrimi- 
nation ! '  To  number  three,  '  Thou  art 
Character.  Thou  didst  teach  me  the  re- 
vealing power  of  true  criticism.'  To 
number  four, '  Thou — O  thou — ' "  Louise 
paused. 

"O  thou  what?" 

"  Well " — cautiously — "  there  must  be  a 
stage  beyond  criticism — hypercriticism, 
maybe.  I  have  not  composed  that  speech 
yet ;  it  will  be  something  about — oh,  noth- 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  223 

ing  in  particular,"  and  Louise  added 
under  her  breath,  "  except  self-dissatis- 
faction." 

The  other  girl  had  ceased  to  wipe  her 
eyes.  "  How  awfully  interesting  !  Who 
are  they  ?  " 

"  Ghosts,  my  child,  only  ghosts — the 
ghosts  of  the  years  that  are  past." 

The  last  word  caught  attention.  "  It  is 
a  shame  to  let  us  grow  so  fond  of  each 
other  and  of  the  college,  and  then  scatter 
us  to  the  four  winds." 

Louise  looked  at  her,  fathoming  the 
depth  of  feeling.  "  You  would  not  choose 
to  live  here  always  ?  " 

"  No-o-o." 

"  What  is  to  be,  is  to  be." 

"  Behold  me  comforted  ! " 

"  Come,"  commanded  Louise,  "  let  us 
go  to  find  the  other  girls." 

On  reaching  the  third  floor,  they  were 
greeted  by  an  uproar  from  the  senior  par- 
lor. A  dozen  girls,  hilarious,  with  eyes 
bright,  were  howling  class  songs,  and  im- 
provising accompaniments  to  a  chorus  of 
animal  cries.  Some  of  them  called  Louise 


224  Vassar  Studies 

to  help  with  the  whistling.  Her  com- 
panion deserted  her  to  assist  in  varying 
the  meows,  but  she  herself  managed  to 
escape,  laughing  while  in  sight. 

Up  another  flight  of  stairs  to  an  open 
door,  with  light  streaming  out  upon  a 
shallow  wooden  box  half  filled  with  books. 
A  glance  showed  the  room  vacant.  How- 
ever, a  vase  of  violets  on  the  desk  wooed 
Louise  to  enter,  and  an  easy-chair  invited 
waiting.  As  she  bent  over  the  flowers, 
she  heard  a  firm  quick  step  sweep  into 
the  alcove  and  pause  on  the  threshold. 
Louise  raised  her  head.  It  was  a  beauti- 
ful face  smiling  down  on  her  from  its 
stately  height,  and  she  felt  again  an  in- 
voluntary thrill  of  the  whole-hearted 
admiration  of  her  freshman  year. 

"  Last  sighs,  Louise  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  last  speeches — something 
about  how  much  I  owe  to  x,  y,  and  zt — 
many  thanks  and  so  forth.  It  is  difficult 
to  drag  such  feelings  to  the  surface  for 
wordy  expression.  It  is  struggling  against 
an  instinct.  Oh,  an  idea  !  perhaps,  if  you 
find  it  awkward  to  say  a  certain  thing, 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  225 

that  is  a  sign  that  you  would  be  wiser  to 
keep  silent." 

"  How  about  the  conjugation  of  a 
Greek  verb,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Very  well ;  if  you  prefer  to  joke  on  se- 
rious subjects,  I  sha'  n't  tell  you  what  stage 
you  represent  in  my  intellectual  develop- 
ment. Lost :  the  chance  of  a  lifetime  ! " 

"  Your  intellectual  development  ?  That 
is  easy.  I  represent  the  first  stage — when 
you  began  to  open  your  eyes  on  the 
world,  and  move  about  saying,  '  Oh,  oh, 
oh  ! '  You  used  to  be  delightfully  credu- 
lous of  perfection.  I  kept  my  best  foot 
forward  so  constantly  that  I  almost  lost 
the  use  of  the  other.  But  now,  alas  !  the 
grievous  change  ! " 

"And  now?" 

"  Hypercriticism." 

"  I  do  not  grumble." 

"  Grumble  ?  Maybe  not.  Nor  find  fault 
with  people.  You  merely  judge  them. 
Oh,  I  know — an  attitude  purely  scientific. 
You  trot  around  with  your  little  micro- 
scope polished  up  bravely, — and  beware  ! 
ye  miserable  insects." 


226  Vassar  Studies 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  is  an  extreme,  a  swing  of 
the  pendulum  from  your  unsophisticated 
days.  You  will  recover  balance  when 
you  are  out  of  this  rarefied  atmosphere 
— away  from  this  abnormal  mode  of 
existence." 

The  girl  drooped  suddenly.  "  You  are 
not  sorry  to  leave  it  ?  " 

"  Not  a  twinge  !  The  monotony  of  this 
place  is  terrible,  after  you  have  finished 
your  own — ahem — intellectual  develop- 
ment, and  are  only  a  teacher  assisting  in 
the  development  of  others.  Buried  ! " 

"  Drowned  in  work  and  buried  in 
books." 

"  Exactly.  But  that  reminds  me  that 
those  books  must  be  packed  to-night. 
Hand  me  a  few,  Louise." 

The  girl  carried  an  armful.  "  You 
never  say  please." 

"  Now,  Louise." 

"  Oh,  indisputably  unnecessary,  but  I 
was  thinking— 

"  Don't.  '  Thought  is  a  disease  of  the 
flesh.'  Why  can't  you  throw  away 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  227 

that  small  microscope  ?  The  secret  of 
happiness— 

"  Eureka ! " 

" — lies  in  the  attitude  of  acceptance. 
Why  don't  you  accept  people  as  they  are  ? " 

"  Or  reject  them." 

"  I  should  think  that  the  girls  would  be 
afraid  to  have  you  around  when  they  are 
off  dress-parade  duty." 

"  If  that  is  n't  the  most  barefaced  hint !  " 

"  Louise,  don't  go.  I  want  you  to 
bring  me  more  books." 

"  And  what  will  become  of  all  the  rest 
of  these  farewell  speeches  withering  on 
my  hands  ?  One  more  armful,  and 
then " 

"Not  good-bye?" 

"  Oh,  no.  You  are  going  to  get  up  to 
the  early  breakfast  to  see  me  off." 

"Am  I?" 

Louise  blew  her  a  kiss. 

After  another  journey  through  the 
cheerless  disorder  of  the  halls,  with  the 
sounds  of  desperate  gayety  coming  faintly 
from  the  parlor,  Louise  found  herself  at 
the  closed  door  of  a  room  belonging  to 


228  Vassar  Studies 

one  of  the  professors.  To  her,  as  she  en- 
tered, the  book-lined  apartment  seemed  an 
oasis  of  calm  in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil 
of  emotions  and  packing-boxes  in  the  rest 
of  the  building.  Two  other  seniors  were 
already  there  at  ease  among  the  divan  pil- 
lows. Louise  chose  a  seat  near  the  host- 
ess, who  with  cordial  tact  drew  her  within 
the  conversational  range. 

"  We  were  speaking  of  ideals,  and  how 
they  change  as  the  years  pass  on." 

"  When  I  was  a  freshman,"  spoke  one 
of  the  girls,  "  my  ideal  of  happiness  was 
to  be  a  senior." 

"And  now?" 

"  To  be  a  freshman.  Well,  no,  I  do 
not  mean  that  exactly.  A  repetition  of 
all  our  written  quizzes  would  be  such  a 
nervous  strain.  Think  of  the  manual 
labor  of  examinations  !  And  yet 

The  girl  beside  her  lifted  eyes  heavy 
with  shadows.  "  I  saved  out  from  pack- 
ing an  extra  embroidered  handkerchief  on 
purpose  for  to-night,  but  I  am  too  tired 
even  to  feel." 

Louise   leaned  a  little   forward  in   her 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  229 

eagerness  to  grasp  the  conversational 
thread  slipping  out  of  reach.  "  Don't 
you  think  that  during  the  college  course 
our  ideals  develop  from  the  spectacular 
to  the  spiritual  ?  " 

The  student  who  had  spoken  first  pre- 
tended perplexity.  "  I  am  worn  out  from 
sitting  near  you  at  the  table  all  the  year. 
What  do  you  mean  ?  Spectacular  to 
spiritual." 

"  I  mean  that  your  ideal  of  beauty 
changes  its  emphasis  from  complexion  to 
character." 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  evolution  of  criticism." 

The  professor  was  listening  in  as  inter- 
ested a  way  as  if  she  had  never  before 
heard  such  novel  ideas.  "  Education, 
then,  is  a  gradual  deepening  of  insight  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  think—  Well,  perhaps 
we  are  born  blind.  At  least,  I  was.  And 
we  need  other  people  to  help  open  our 
eyes.  Why,  do  you  know,  I  had  never 
thought  much  about  intellectual  honesty 
or  self-deception,  until  you  spoke  of  such 
things  one  day  in  class." 

"  I    remember,"    murmured    the    caller 


230  Vassar  Studies 

who  had  bemoaned  loss  of  feeling ;  "  I 
shall  always  remember.  There  are  initials 
whittled  on  the  seats  in  that  room,  and 
there  are  spots  of  ink  where  we  shook  our 
fountain-pens,  and  there  is  a  scratchy  gray 
place  on  the  blackboard,  and  we  shall 
never— 

"  Stop  her,  somebody !  "  broke  in  the 
other,  rising  hastily  ;  "  she  left  that  hand- 
kerchief in  the  parlor.  Help  me  to  drag 
her  away.  We  have  decided  not  to  say 
good-bye,"  with  a  faint  smile  into  the  pro- 
fessor's face ;  "  good-night  is  so  much 
shorter,  and  answers  quite  as  well." 

Louise  lingered  for  a  last  word.  As 
the  door  closed,  her  hostess  turned  toward 
her.  "  Well,  Louise,"  taking  the  girl's 
hand  in  both  her  own,  "  you  will  write  to 
me?" 

"  If  I  may,"  exclaimed  Louise,  joyfully 
anticipating  the  preservation  of  memories. 
As  she  watched  the  professor  bending 
over  her  desk  to  write  her  summer  ad- 
dress, she  spied  a  new  photograph 
propped  against  a  paper-weight.  An  in- 
stant vision  of  the  slender  figure  shrink- 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  231 

ing  away  from  her  into  the  dusk  faded 
from  Louise's  mind  before  she  picked  up 
the  card  for  a  lingering  scrutiny.  It  was 
a  young  girl's  face  with  the  mouth  of  a 
sensitive  child  and  eyes  looking  shyly 
into  hers. 

The  professor  raised  her  head.  "It  is 
a  winning  face,  is  n't  it  ? "  noticing  the 
picture  ;  "  she  brought  it  to  me  to-day. 
Her  mother  and  I  were  classmates ;  I 
have  been  glad  to  have  the  child  with  me 
here,  even  if  it  was  only  for  her  last  year. 
She  was  timid  about  coming  among 


strangers. 


"  Has  n't  she  enjoyed  it  ? "  Louise  spoke 
quickly. 

The  professor  hesitated.  "  She  is  nat- 
urally exceedingly  shy  and  diffident.  I 
am  afraid  that  she  felt  the  critical 
atmosphere  at  first." 

"  She  belongs  to  the  charming  type," 
murmured  the  student  of  character,  "  the 
type  that  possesses  genius  for  winning 
personal  attachment." 

"  There  is  something  lovable  even  about 
the  photograph.  Those  lovable  natures 


232  Vassar  Studies 

are  the  very  ones  which  are  peculiarly 
sensitive  to  atmosphere.  During  the 
early  part  of  the  year,  she  used  to  come 
to  me  to  'catch  her  breath,'  as  she  ex- 
pressed it.  She  felt  like  some  prisoners 
of  ancient  times — in  a  cell  with  all  lux- 
uries and  conveniences,  but  with  two  eyes 
at  a  hole  in  the  ceiling,  following  every 
movement." 

"  Oh  ! " — the  syllable  breathed  a  pang 
of  swift  contrition. 

The  professor  spied  the  contracted 
forehead.  "  Don't  look  so  tortured.  It 
was  better  after  a  while.  She  told  me 
that  the  eyes  disappeared,  and  then  some 
one  set  her  up  on  a  slippery  pedestal  and 
kept  watching  to  see  if  she  was  going  to 
fall  off." 

The  silence  that  ensued  was  broken  by 
a  flutter  of  gowns  and  girlish  chatter  at 
the  door.  Louise  slipped  away  during 
the  greeting. 

The  next  room  presented  a  bare  ap- 
pearance in  the  blankness  of  linen  shroud- 
ing pver  bookcases,  pictures,  and  furniture. 
When  Louise  tapped  on  the  door  set 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  233 

ajar,  she  heard  a  gentle  rustle,  and  felt 
herself  wafted  in  on  a  breeze  of  cordial 
welcome.  "  My  dear,  I  have  been  think- 
ing about  you,  and  wondering  if  you 
would  vanish  without  a  good-bye." 

"  You  knew  that  I  would  not  do  that," 
responded  the  caller  reproachfully,  as  she 
sank  into  an  arm-chair,  while  her  hostess 
chose  the  least  comfortable  seat  in  sight 
in  an  habitual  way.  Her  face  drew 
charm  from  its  attentive  sympathy. 

"  I  wanted  a  good  talk  with  you  before 
we  scattered,"  began  the  girl,  "  but  last  mo- 
ments generally  find  moods  out  of  tune." 

"  What  mood  is  it  to-night  ? " 

"  I  am  leaving  everything  at  loose 
ends,"  with  a  long  sigh. 

"  And  you  expected  to  finish  off  all  the 
relations  of  your  life  with  a  Q.E.D.  ?  " 

Louise  reflected  the  glimmer  of  a 
smile.  "  Ridiculous,  is  n't  it  ?  But — if  I 
could  only  convey  ideas,  'the  impalpable, 
evanescent,  intangible  "-—she  waved  her 
fingers  in  the  air — "  impression  of  in- 
fluences. In  short,  if  people  would  only 
understand." 


234  Vassar  Studies 

"  Is  she  misunderstood  ?" 

"  Well,  how  would  you  like  it,"  and 
Louise  sat  up  straight,  "  if  some  one  al- 
ways acted  as  if  she  thought  that  you 
were  going  to  hurt  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  the  particular  '  loose  end,' 
is  it  ?  The  question  is,  have  you  hurt 
her?" 

Louise  looked  uncomfortable.  "  I  have 
been  studying  her  all  the  year." 

"  Oh,"  the  tone  was  significant,  "  and  I 
dare  say  that  she  is  sensitive,  and  felt 
your  attitude  of  judicial  hostility?" 

"  I  hate  to  be  superficial." 

"  As  Apollo  doubtless  thought  in  that 
little  affair  with  Marsyas." 

"  I  think  that  she  is  unusually  near 
perfection." 

"  After  deciding  to  approve  of  her,  per- 
haps you  analyzed  her  character  to  her 
face,  and  told  her  your  opinion  ?  " 

"Well,"  with  an  attempt  at  self-justifi- 
cation, "when  she  acted  so  afraid  of  me, 
I  hoped  that  she  would  be  reassured  by 
hearing  how  nearly  faultless  I  considered 
her." 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  235 

The  woman  looked  at  the  girl,  and 
then  turned  her  face  toward  the  window 
for  a  moment.  When  she  spoke,  her 
voice  had  a  tremulous  note  :  "  That  sounds 
reasonable." 

Louise  glanced  up  quickly.  "  Laugh,  if 
you  can,"  and  she  herself  was  smiling, 
though  with  flushed  cheeks,  "  but  what 
shall  I  do?" 

"  You  are  not  likely  to  see  each  other 
after  to-morrow." 

"  But  don't  you  see,"  bending  forward 
anxiously,  "  she  does  not  understand  ?  I 
have  spoiled  her  senior  year.  And  she 
will  go  away,  always  to  feel  discomfort  at 
memory  of  me." 

A  knock  interrupting  brought  the  caller 
to  her  feet.  The  hostess,  having  heard  a 
tone  of  real  distress  in  the  egoistic  little 
wail,  whispered  a  "  Come  down  later, 
dear,"  before  Louise  had  disappeared  to 
pay  another  last  visit. 

At  the  president's  house,  she  was 
shown  into  the  library  to  await  the  mas- 
ter's arrival  from  town.  An  open  fire, 
coquetting  with  the  chill  of  the  unseason- 


236  Vassar  Studies 

able  June  night,  tempted  her  with  tongs 
laid  near  glowing  logs.  With  a  deep 
sigh  she  leaned  her  head  against  the  back 
of  the  seat  in  the  ingle-nook. 

A  ring  at  the  outer  door,  and  some- 
body was  being  shown  into  the  room  with 
her.  Louise  rose,  mysteriously  expectant. 
At  sight  of  her,  the  newcomer  suddenly 
wavered,  almost  stopping  short,  half-way 
to  the  fireplace.  To  Louise's  murmur  of 
"  Good-evening,"  she  bowed  with  exag- 
gerated ease,  and  sank  stiffly  into  a  chair 
at  hand.  The  expression  was  familiar — 
shrinking  written  painfully  on  the  sensi- 
tive face,  with  mouth  set  hard  against  a 
quiver,  and  eyes  grown  dark  under 
lowered  lashes. 

The  quiet  was  full  of  pin  -  pricks. 
Finally,  lifting  every  nerve  to  the  effort, 
the  later  arrival  remarked,  with  conven- 
tional sweetness  above  a  sub-stratum  of 
consciousness  that  Louise  had  once 
praised  her  manner  as  charming,  "  Is  n't  it 
delightfully  cool  this  evening  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Louise,  watching  her 
wistfully. 


The  Ghost  of  Her  Senior  Year  237 

Vividly  aware  of  the  two  eyes  in  the 
ingle-nook,  the  young  woman,  casting 
about  desperately  in  her  mind  for  some- 
thing to  say,  recollected  that  her  com- 
panion considered  her  an  entertaining 
conversationalist.  At  last,  "  Have  you 
found  your  senior  year  pleasant  ? " 

"  Yes,  except "  -  a  quick  change  of 
voice  into  pleading  tones — "  please  be 
friends." 

Elaborately  at  a  loss,  "  Oh,  I  am  per- 
fectly willing  !  "  meanwhile  staring  stead- 
fastly at  the  piano. 

Another  silence,  during  which  she 
crossed  one  foot  over  the  other,  and 
swung  it  nervously  under  Louise's  furtive 
scrutiny. 

"  I  am  sorry,  sorry — I  cannot  tell  you 
how  sorry — that  I  have  caused  you  to  feel 
any  lack  of  ease  this  past  year." 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  perfectly  comfort- 
able," with  a  brilliant  smile  masking  dis- 
mayed anticipation  of  a  "scene." 

Louise  turned  hopelessly  toward  the 
fire  ;  the  other  had  leisure  to  recall  further 
items  in  the  list  of  excellent  qualities  with 


238  Vassar  Studies 

which  Louise  had  credited  her  in  an  ana- 
lytical synopsis  of  her  character.  Her 
self-consciousness  had  by  no  means  been 
diminished  by  the  association  with  Louise  ; 
this  fact  gave  her  a  sense  of  injury  wilfully 
inflicted. 

Suddenly  she  stiffened  under  a  percep- 
tion of  renewed  glances. 

"  I  have  been  wrong,"  said  Louise  ;  "  I 
wish  that  you  would " — she  swallowed 
something  in  her  throat — "  forgive  me." 

For  the  first  time  that  evening  the 
young  woman  looked  squarely  at  Louise, 
and  at  sight  of  the  reddening  cheeks  and 
downcast  eyes  all  at  once  regained  her 
composure.  Rising  with  outstretched 
hand,  "  That  is  all  right,"  she  said. 

Louise  brightened  joyously  ;  she  would 
leave  no  loose  ends  after  all.  As  for  the 
other,  though  smiling  bravely,  she  could 
not  keep  a  cool  limpness  from  her  finger- 
tips, and,  at  the  sound  of  steps  approach- 
ing in  the  hall,  she  drew  a  long  deep 
breath  of  relief. 


XI 


DANGER ! 


I 


AT  COLLEGE,  September  27th. 
DEAREST  LAURA  : 

IN  the  state  of  happy-healthy-heartless 
well-being  arising  from  an  afternoon  spent 
out-of-doors  (yes  'm,  a  bicycle  ride  gay  with 
foliage  and  fresh  air,  and  apple  trees  lean- 
ing over  stone  walls,  and  red  haws  and 
wild  grapes  and  fringed  gentians),  I  sit 
down  to  write  to  Laura.  Why  to  Laura  ? 
Because.  Oh,  no,  I  am  neither  post-,  pro-, 
circum-,  extro-,  nor  intro-spective ;  I  am 
merely  in  perplexity.  Out  with  it !  My 
dear,  why  did  I  come  to  college  ? 

Aha,  stumped  !  (as  the  boys  say.  Bless 
the  boys !  Without  their  scapegrace 
shoulders  to  bear  the  responsibility,  how 
239 


240  Vassar  Studies 

should  I  dare  to  —  ah  —  tackle  slang?) 
Give  it  up.  That  terrible  young  friend 
of  yours  !  What  base  cruelty  moved  you 
to  put  her  under  my  protection  ?  I — an 
ordinary,  inoffensive  senior,  with  nerves 
and  a  talent  for  silence.  I — who  have 
passed  beyond  the  days  argumentative 
concerning  flattery  and  friendship.  I — 
whose  brain  is  not  lazy,  you  know,  but 
simply  averse  to  effort.  And  she  is — 
hist! — she  is  an  Inquiring  Mind!  Oh, 
the  pity  of  it ! 

Only  one  week  of  college  gone,  and 
already  I  decline  oatmeal  at  breakfast, 
drink  hot  water  with  a  teaspoon,  and 
shudder  at  the  mention  of  fudges. 
Imagine  the  strain  of  association  with  an 
Inquiring  Mind  !  When  I  told  her  that 
I  preferred  the  Main  Building  to  the  halls 
for  residence,  because  the  presence  of  the 
seniors  gave  it  a  scholarly  atmosphere,  she 
demanded  promptly,  "  What  do  you  mean 
by  '  atmosphere '  ?  "  Of  course,  I  described 
the  article  succinctly  without  hesitation. 
Again — blind  wretch  that  I  am  ! — to  fill 
up  a  conversational  pause,  meditative  on 


Danger !  241 

her  part  and  miserable  on  mine,  I  re- 
marked that  our  college  has  a  distinct 
personality  in  the  educational  world. 
Just  as  I  was  congratulating  myself  on 
the  immensity  of  information  conveyed, 
she  spoke  eagerly  :  "  Please,  I  Ve  always 
wanted  to  find  out  exactly  what  personality 
is.  How  do  you  define  it?"  The  next 
attack  will  be — and  meanwhile  fancy  me 
increasingly  like  ALneas  "  as  to  my  hair  "- 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  good-morning '  ? " 
In  chapel  last  night  she  sat  beside  me 
(I  really  prefer  her  beside  me  for  obvious 
reasons  connected  with  her  eyes).  I  was 
feeling — what  ? — yes,  happy  (for,  alas  !  I 
have  not  yet  succeeded  in  rising  above 
feeling,  even  if  I  am  a  senior) — happy 
to  be  back  among  the  girls  again,  to  see 
them  all  around  me,  and  to  hear  their 
voices  singing.  And  then,  too,  the  seat 
was  comfortable,  and — well,  I  should  not 
wonder  if  my  mouth  was  half  open  (is  n't 
that  a  sign  of  bliss  ?  or  maybe  it  was  just 
a  sign  that  I  was  singing  also).  I  was 
thinking  that  I  should  like  to  sit  there 
forever — only  I  knew  I  should  n't — listen- 


242  Vassar  Studies 

ing  to  the  music,  when  all  at  once  your 
stern  friend  bent  her  awful  gaze  upon  me 
with,  "  Why  did  you  come  to  college  ?  " 

"Why  did  I  come  to  college?"  stam- 
mered I,  wildly  searching  through  my 
stock  of  ideas  for  a  plausible  excuse. 

"  Oh,  why,  I  came  for  fun." 

Then  I  wilted  (she  had  looked  at  me). 

On  the  way  out  of  chapel,  she  asked, 
"  Do  you  believe  that  college  life  tends 
to  produce  a  flippant  attitude  on  the  part 
of  the  students  ?  " 

Oh,  yes.  The  way  to  maturity  lies 
through  a  wilderness  of  ideas  and  opinions, 
with  boggy  places  here  and  there.  Clad 
in  gayety  and  shod  with  self-confidence, 
the  youth  enters  the  swamp ;  before  he 
emerges,  his  robe  is  often  worn  to  flippancy 
and  his  boots  are  wholly  destroyed. 

But  it  is  a  beautiful  swamp. 

Fare  thee  well. 

MARTHA. 
P.  S. 

Was  the  Inquiring  Mind  ever  free  from 
care?  She  looks  as  if  she  bears  on  her 
shoulders  the  entire  weight  of  the  reputa- 


Danger !  243 

tion  of  some  ambitious  private  school. 
She  has  showed  me  a  page  in  a  new  note- 
book headed,  "  Dangers  of  College  Life." 
Eheu,  eheu  ! 

M. 

II 

November  2d. 
DEAREST  LAURA  : 

I  came  to  college  for  fun.  (Ha,  ha! 
shrieked  the  maniac.)  Did  I  get  it  ? 
Yes,  but  not  as  I  expected,  with  work 
sandwiched  in  between.  The  fun  is  the 
sandwiched  portion.  It  makes,  however, 
excellent  eating.  (That,  noble  one,  is 
imagery.  Further  I  refuse  to  explain  ;  I 
refuse  henceforth  to  explain  anything.) 

The  whole  place  is  full  of  interrogation 
points,  generally  in  the  form  of  a  certain 
solemn-eyed  young  woman  with  a  new 
note-book  and  a  fountain-pen.  Ask  her 
why  she  keeps  me  dancing  on  the  tenter 
hooks  of  a  mysteriously  guilty  conscience. 
Why  should  she  visit  the  sins  of  institu- 
tion life  upon  this  meek  mortal  ?  Find 
out  if  she  considers  college  chiefly 


244  Vassar  Studies 

valuable  as  a  means  of  prolonging  child- 
hood. Investigate  her  views  of  emotional 
excitability  as  one  of  the  stigmata  of 
degeneration. 

What  did  she  say  to  the  Hallowe'en 
joke  on  the  seniors — the  sweetest  little 
lamb  in  hood  and  cloak,  with  various  indi- 
cated innuendos  concerning  limitations  of 
character  and  ability  ?  (It  was  a  joke — a 
capital  Joke.  I  ought  to  know,  as  I  was 
one  of  those  detailed  to  feed  him  whipped 
cream  all  night ;  he  had  such  a  vigorous 
way  of  voicing  objections  to  solitude.) 
Your  friend  said  nothing.  She  has,  how- 
ever, speaking  eyes  ;  they  groaned,  "  And 
these  are  college  women  ! " 

What  did  she  think  during  October, 
when  every  day  which  dawned  with  a  glo- 
rious wind  wrestling  with  the  trees,  saw 
us  tearing  out  to  the  brook,  where  chest- 
nuts were  pattering  down  upon  dead 
leaves  ?  Or  when  we  came  back  from  the 
woods  with  our  sleeves  stuffed  full  of 
hickory  nuts?  Or  when  we  sang  and 
cheered  and  laughed  all  through  the  long 
beautiful  drive  to  Lake  Mohonk,  jumping 


Danger !  245 

down  to  search  for  wild  flowers  and  apples, 
or  run  along  behind  the  barges?  And 
Miss  Propriety?  Well,  I  informed  her 
that  she  was  correct  in  calculating  that 
the  average  age  of  the  seniors  is  twenty- 
two  years. 

In  the  third  place  and  furthermore  (are 
you  noticing  the  scrupulously  analytical 
form  of  this  dissertation?  Influence  of 
contact  with  an  Inquiring  Mind),  what 
were  her  meditations  over  the  political 
campaign,  which  has  been  raging  all  the 
fall? 

Perhaps  you  remember  that,  as  a  com- 
munity, like  other  good  Americans,  we 
are  fond  of  exercising  our  lungs  to  express 
patriotic  enthusiasm.  When  we  have  a 
chance  to  yell  in  a  ladylike  way — that  is, 
in  a  situation  where  we  may  regard  our- 
selves more  as  abstract  citizens  of  a  great 
Republic  than  as  concrete  examples  of  the 
"eternal  feminine  "-—we  yell.  It  is  excel- 
lent as  a  safety-valve  for  superfluous  vital- 
ity ;  it  is  also  beneficial  for  the  nerves — of 
those  who  yell. 

You  should  have  seen  the  magnificent 


246  Vassar  Studies 

seriousness  displayed  by  your  young 
freshman  during  the  dizzy  round  of  our 
mimic  campaign — torchlight  (without  the 
torches)  and  bicycle  processions,  rallies, 
speeches,  banquets,  receptions,  even  vot- 
ing. On  the  night  of  our  grand  Republican 
parade  (half  of  us  wearing  mackintoshes 
and  half  blazers,  and  every  one  a  paper 
soldier  cap,  with  effigies,  floats,  tin  horns, 
drums,  enthusiasm,  and  noise,  while  we 
marched  up  and  down  every  floor  of  the 
Main  Building),  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  that 
child's  countenance  (face  is  too  short  a 
word)  as  I  was  scurrying  around  the  fourth- 
story  traverse  in  the  tail  end  of  the  pro- 
cession. I  was  the  one  that  smiled. 

At  another  great  event — a  reception  of 
various  delegations  by  the  Republican 
candidate  under  an  autumn-leaf-covered 
verandah  in  the  lecture-room — her  emo- 
tions (oh,  I  beg  her  intellectual  pardon  !— 
her  reflections)  reached  the  pitch  of  utter- 
ance. The  delegations,  having  gone 
through  with  hand-shakings  and  speeches, 
gathered  in  different  parts  of  the  room, 
and  began  to  sing,  or  rather  howl,  each 


Danger !  247 

its  peculiar  song.  There  were  chappies 
pounding  with  gold-headed  canes,  hod-car- 
riers with  hods,  graders  with  shovels ; 
there  were  cooks,  populists,  nondescript 
toilers,  and  "  new  women." 

In  the  midst  of  the  pandemonium,  the 
Inquiring  Mind  approached  me  with  an- 
guish of  spirit  in  her  eyes.  "  Don't  you 
think- 

I  hastened  to  assure  her  that  I  did, 
though  as  rarely  as  possible.  Then  I 
wilted,  as  on  a  previous  occasion. 

" — that  the  present  political  situa- 
tion is  far  too  grave  to  be  treated  farci- 
cally ?  " 

I  wonder  if  she  will  ever  exhibit  for  my 
benefit  her  list  of  "  Dangers."  I  can 


imagine  it : 


DANGERS  OF  COLLEGE  LIFE 

I. — Item  :  Reason  for  entering  college. 

Inference  :  Flippancy. 
II. — Item  :  Hallowe'en  jokes  and  romps. 

Inference  :  Frivolity. 
III. — Item  :  Mimic  political  campaign. 

Inference  :  Foolishness. 


248  Vassar  Studies 

Why  did  I  ever  come  to  college  ? 

MARTHA. 
P.  S. 

Fancy  what  I  might  have  been,  if  I  had 
not  come   to  college.      And — woe,  woe  ! 
—think  of  the  fate  of  Miss  Prunes-Pro- 
priety-Precision, if  she  stays. 

M. 

Ill 

December  nth. 

MY  DEAR  : 

Only  a  note  to  beseech  you  to  expos- 
tulate with  that  young  person  concerning 
her  tendency  to  base  general  investiga- 
tions upon  poor  individual  me.  And 
please  add  a  few  remarks  about  timing 
her  words  to  the  occasion.  Wherefore 
this  supplication  ?  To-day  an  old  school- 
mate— ancient,  in  fact ;  I  had  not  seen  her 
for  a  dozen  years — called  to  see  me. 
When  I  entered  the  parlors,  this  stranger 
fell  on  my  neck  with  protestations  of  joy. 
I  simply  had  not  the  courage  to  confess 
that  I  did  not  know  her  from  Adam.  (Of 
course,  I  mean  Eve.  Behold  the  influence 


Danger !  249 

again  of  Miss  Precision.)  Imagine  me 
quaking  through  a  tender  conversation 
made  up  of  reminiscences,  until  I  clutched 
a  clew  !  Stretch  your  fancy  far  enough 
to  see  me  making  an  account  of  the  visit 
into  a  beautifully  funny  joke  to  amuse 
the  girls  at  the  table,  and  then  to  watch 
the  Inquiring  Mind  break  a  meditative 
silence  with  "  Is  true  politeness  ever  in- 
compatible with  sincerity  ?  " 

Another  point  for  her  note-book  : 

IV. — Item  :  Social  insincerities. 

Inference  :  Lack  of  moral  courage. 

Oh,  me !  oh,  me  !  By  the  way,  a  pos- 
sible "  Danger"  exploded  on  Philalethean 
Day.  As  the  dining-room  of  the  Main 
had  been  cleared  for  dancing,  we  had 
cosy  little  suppers  in  our  rooms.  Half  a 
dozen  of  us  clubbed  together — oysters 
from  town,  chafing-dish,  miscellaneous 
china,  one  fork,  three  knives,  innumerable 
spoons.  That  friend  of  yours  surveyed 
every  movement,  tasted  the  rarebit,  and 
saw  that  it  was  good  ;  then  she  scrutinized 
the  progress  of  a  quarrel  over  washing 


250  Vassar  Studies 

dishes.  She  said  that  she  had  heard 
that  college  life  tended  to  produce  dislike 
for  domesticity,  but—  And  then  she 
watched  us  break  a  cup  in  the  struggle  to 
wipe  it  with  four  or  five  hands  belonging 
to  different  persons. 

Dislike  for  domesticity !  Wherefore, 
then,  the  odor  of  countless  chafing-dish 
suppers  floating  through  transoms  on 
Sunday  evenings  ?  And  wherefore  the 
daily  clattering  of  tea-cups  under  the 
faucet  in  the  hall  ?  (Domesticity  is  de- 
rived conjecturally  from  domus — house, 
plus  edo — eat,  and  equals  the  place  where 
we  eat.  Hence,  a  talent  for  cookery  im- 
plies the  possession  of  domestic  tastes. 
Is  that  clear,  young  ladies  ?  ) 

Hark !  the  silvery-toned  gong  !  I  must 
hurry  to  secure  a  back  seat  in  the  recita- 
tion-room. It  is  so  fortunate  that  to-day 
I  am  afflicted  with  a  cough  which  invari- 
ably seizes  me  when  the  professor  is 
looking  around  for  a  new  victim  to  ask 
to  translate. 

Be  sure  not  to  forget  the  expostula- 
tions. Tell  her  that  questions  make  me 


Danger!  251 

nervous.  When  my  new  gown  came  for 
Phil,  I  tried  it  on,  and  ventured  down 
into  the  parlors  to  get  a  full-length  view 
in  the  pier-glass.  Absorbed  in  promenad- 
ing up  and  down  while  practising  different 
varieties  of  smiles,  I  became  abruptly 
aware  of  an  opening  door  and  a  face 
waxing  slowly  into  horror-stricken  round- 
ness before  vanishing  from  sight.  Be- 
hold me  flying  up  side  stairways,  crouching 
behind  "  Engaged"  signs,  peering  around 
corners,  and  reconnoitring  corridors,  in 
nerve-shrinking  dread  of  "  Do  you  think 
that  mirrors  foster  vanity  ?  " 

Occasionally,  my  dear  young  friend, 
very  occasionally.  It  all  depends. 

MARTHA. 
P.  S. 

Tell  her  that  it  is  pedantic  to  ask  ques- 
tions, and  worse  to  answer  them,  except 
in  the  classroom,  and  even  there  it  is 
sometimes  wiser  to  pass  them  by  in 
silence.  M. 

P.  S.  iterum. 

Tell  her  that  the  greatest  danger  of 
college  life  is  pedanticism.  M. 


252  Vassar  Studies 

IV 

February  i4th. 
DEAR  : 

A  snapping  winter  night  with  the 
shadow  of  woods  at  the  foot  of  the  heaved- 
up  whiteness  of  Sunrise  Hill,  and  a  moon 
in  the  sky.  (It  is  the  same  old  moon  we 
had  last  year.) 

I  have  been  meditating  over  life,  while 
patronizing  the  steam-pipes.  My  medita- 
tions were  considerably  affected — as  to 
coloring — by  the  fact  that  I  was  up  until 
two  last  night,  engaged  in  writing  valen- 
tines. When  your  friend  heard  it,  she 
did  not  express  her  opinion  with  the  pleas- 
ant scholarliness  of  "  Cui  bono?"  or  even 
in  a  wholesome  "  Waste  of  time  ! "  She 
merely  murmured,  "  I  have  read  that  one 
danger  is  lack  of  balance." 

During  examination  week,  she  must 
have  been  making  a  preliminary  study  of 
this  particular  "  Danger."  When  she  in- 
quired, "  What  is  the  difference  between 
cramming  and  judiciously  reviewing?"  I 
told  her,  of  course,  that  one  was  learning 
something  entirely  new,  and  the  other 


Danger !  253 

was  reviving  the  forgotten.  Looking  at 
the  pile  of  notes  before  me,  she  glanced 
at  the  clock,  and  then  asked,  "  What  is 
an  injudicious  review  ?  " 

An  injudicious  review,  my  dear,  is  the 
kind  that  arouses  longing  for  vacation — 
not  an  ordinary  vacation  such  as  the  girls 
whirl  through  during  the  holidays  (for, 
though  a  change  of  occupation  may  be  a 
recreation,  it  is  not  always  a  rest),  but  a 
vacation  "as  is  a  vacation."  The  college 
year — a  mad  dance  through  the  week  with 
a  double-shuffle  on  Saturday  and  a  wild 
clutch  at  old  Time's  forelock.  On  Sun- 
day catch  your  breath  to  begin  again. 

It  is  an  enjoyable  dance. 

It  is  a  thoroughly  enjoyable  dance. 
Thereby,  in  your  friend's  judgment,  hangs 
"  The  Great  Danger  ! "  After  the  skating 
carnival — ropes  of  Chinese  lanterns  sway- 
ing, three  big  bonfires,  music,  glint  of  fly- 
ing steel  in  the  darkness,  girls  darting  and 
gliding,  or  hovering  near  the  blaze  with 
frosty  curls  around  glowing  faces — I  lin- 
gered for  last  looks  at  dying  brands  (you 
see,  this  is  my  senior  year).  The  Inquir- 


254  Vassar  Studies 

ing  Mind  approached,  on  information 
bent.  (She  did  not  even  notice  how  the 
flames  flared  and  flickered,  throwing 
dancing  shadows  among  the  branches  of 
the  trees.)  She  began,  "  Don't  you  think 
that  life  at  this  college  is  altogether  shel- 
tered and  petted  for  the  girls  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  assented,  "  it  is  like  doing  us 
up  in  cotton." 

"  Don't  you  think,"  she  continued  ea- 
gerly, "  that  the  life  here  may  spoil  us  for 
struggling  with  the  world  ? "  (She  evi- 
dently spells  world  with  very  black  letters.) 

"  It  resembles  an  orphan  asylum  in  that 
respect,"  I  agreed. 

She  was  not  heeding  me.  "  I  have 
heard  that  this  is  '  The  Great  Danger.' " 

"  Rather  comprehensive,"  I  ventured, 
but  she  did  not  take  the  trouble  even  to 
look. 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated  to  herself,  "  that 
is  '  The  Great  Danger.' ' 

I  think  so  myself — occasionally — espe- 
cially when  I  have  been  up  until  two  the 
night  before.  At  other  times  I  reflect 
that  not  all  children  are  taught  to  swim  by 


Danger !  255 

being  thrown  into  the  water.     (Wise  that 
I  am!) 

The  world  !  (said  to  be  cold).       Febru- 
ary,  March,    April,    May,    June!      Com- 
mencement.   Danger  !    Beware  of  college 
life  !     Why  ?    Oh,  because — because — be- 
cause— it  comes  to  an  end  so  soon. 
My  motto  :  "  Grin  " — and  so  forth. 
Yours  and  so  forth, 

MARTHA. 
P.  S. 

I  am  not  blue  ;  I  am  sleepy. 

M. 


May  i st. 
MY  DEAR,  DEAR  LAURA  : 

(The  extra  dear  means  that  it  has  been 
a  beautiful  day.)     Up  early  watching  the 
mountains  brighten  into  misty  blue  where 
eastern  slopes  caught  the  level  rays,  and 
deepen   westward    into    purple   shadows. 
(Ah,  object  to  scenery  in  letters,  do  you  ? 
Very  well.)     Sky — fair  as  the  morning- 
fluffy  little  clouds.      Air — sweet — cool- 
feet  not  touching  earth.     Lake — glisten- 


256  Vassar  Studies 

ing  through  trees  —  thrushes — "full- 
throated"  whistle.  Orioles  —  flashing  — 
topmost  twig  of  evergreens.  Robins — 
lawn  —  sparkle  of  dew — and — but  don't 
mention  it — angle-worms.  The  grass  in 
the  Circle — blue  with  violets.  Flowers — 
everywhere.  I — late  to  breakfast. 

Next.  Library  —  open  window  —  scent 
of  new-mown  grass.  Now  and  then  a 
quiet  rustle  or  the  turning  of  a  page. 
Poem  —  study  —  true  meaning.  I  (my 
dear,  my  dear  !)  —  hedonism  —  summum 
bonum. 

Which  is — being  interpreted — ah — non- 
sense. 

By  the  way,  explanation  of  early  rising 
— to  hang  May  baskets.  Thereby  hangs 
the  discovery  of  another  "  Danger."  Yes- 
terday a  crowd  of  us  set  out  for  the  woods 
to  gather  wild  flowers.  On  our  way 
through  the  orchard,  we  found  your  young 
friend  meditating — of  course — as  she  wan- 
dered under  the  white  glory  (yes  'm,  senti- 
mental diction)  of  the  blossoming  trees, 
while  snowy  petals  drifted  down  upon  the 
deep  soft  grass.  Joining  us,  her  pensive- 


Danger!  257 

ness  darkened.      "  Don't  you  think  that 
college  girls  laugh  too  easily  ?  " 

"  How  about  the  danger  of  laughing 
too  little  ? "  I  suggested. 

"  I  have  heard,"  she  murmured  reflect- 
ively, "  some  statements  concerning  higher 
education  and  the  unstable  equilibrium  of 
the  nervous  system." 

"  The  connection,"  I  commented,  "  is 
as  inevitable  as  that  of  the  Siamese 
twins." 

After  a  quarter  of  a  mile  paced  in 
silence,  the  Inquiring  Mind  again  obtained 
power  of  speech.  "  Sometimes  people 
are — not  agreeable." 

"Once   in   a  while,"  I   assented;   "and 
when  it   is  somebody  else,  the  reason  is 
scriptural — '  possessed  of  an  evil  spirit,'- 
and  when  it  is  a  college  girl,  the  reason 
is " 

"What?"  eagerly. 

"  Indigestion." 

She  spoke  one  word  —  despairingly — 
"  Materialism." 

In  the  woods,  I  succeeded  in  eluding 
the  Scientific  Intellect  long  enough  to 


258  Vassar  Studies 

compose  the  first  line  of  a  poem.  I  was 
sitting  beside  a  miniature  streamlet  which 
flowed  clear  brown,  rippling  around  stones 
and  tinkling  over  cascades  into  dark  and 
silent  pools  about  the  size  of  my  handker- 
chief. Far  away  in  a  distance  of  straight 
gray  tree  trunks,  through  a  shimmer  of 
tiny  green  leaves,  I  caught  glimpses  of 
the  girls  roaming  here  and  there.  The 
poem  began  in  a  strikingly  thoughtful 
way,  "  Flowers,  flowers,  everywhere,"  and 
I  was  trying  to  work  in  the  names  of 
different  species  (because  poetry  in  its 
essence  is  concrete  and  specific,  aha  ! ).  It 
was  necessary — absolutely  so — to  describe 
the  rosy  glow  of  spring-beauties  along  the 
brook,  the  golden  carpets  of  dogtooth 
violets,  the  anemones  nodding  daintily 
beside  rough  stumps,  the  cheery  little 
hepaticas.  This  glorious  effort  was  nipped 
in  the  bud  by  the  appearance  of  your 
respected  friend. 

After  examining  my  flowers  (laid  away 
— let  me  inform  you — in  the  cool  dark- 
ness of  a  tin  box,  not  picturesquely  wither- 
ing in  a  basket),  she  opened  her  mouth. 


Danger !  259 

(Ah,  me  !  I  sighed,  and  leaned  against  a 
mossy  green  rock.)  She  said,  "What  are 
you  going  to  do  with  so  many  ?  " 

I  told  her  that  I  intended  to  hang  May 
baskets — get  up  early  the  next  morning 
to  leave  the  flowers  at  the  girls'  doors 
(not  all  the  girls) — before  any  one  was 
awake. 

"  Will  you  get  up  very  early  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  How  early?"  (There  is  nothing,  my 
dear,  so  desirable  in  social  conversation  as 
mathematical  accuracy.) 

"  Fifteen  minutes  after  six." 

She  looked  at  me.  "  I  wish  that  I  had 
my  note-book  here." 

"  Why  ?  "     (Even  this  worm  will  turn.) 

She  hesitated  a  moment.  "  I  have 
heard  that  one  danger  of  life  in  a  woman's 
college  is  the  resulting  attitude  of  abnor- 
mal devotion  to  her  own  sex." 

Something  giggled  ;  it  must  have  been 
the  brook. 

Laura,  think  of  that  note-book  !  Let 
me  see — what  was  the  first  "  Danger  "  ? 
Oh,  yes,  flippancy.  Behold  ! 


260  Vassar  Studies 

DANGERS  OF  COLLEGE  LIFE 

I. — Item  :  Reason  for  entering  college. 

Inference  :  Flippancy. 
II. — Item  :  Hallowe'en  jokes  and  romps. 

Inference  :  Frivolity. 
III. — Item  :  Mimic  political  campaign. 

Inference  :  Foolishness. 
IV. — Item  :  Social  insincerities. 

Inference  :  Lack  of  moral  courage. 
V. — Item  :  Teas,  luncheons,  and  suppers. 

Inference  :  Self-indulgence. 
VI. — Item  :  Consultation  with  mirror. 

Inference  :  Vanity. 
VII. — Item  :  Valentine-writing. 

Inference  :  Lack  of  balance. 
VIII. — Item  :  Injudicious  reviews. 

Inference  :  Lack  of  foresight. 
IX. — Item  :  Pleasantness  of  life. 

Inference  :  Unfitness  to  struggle  with  world. 
X. — Item  :  Laughter. 

Inference  :  Emotional  excitability. 
XI. — Item  :  Explanation  of  moods. 

Inference  :  Materialism. 
XII. — Item  :  Hanging  of  May  baskets. 

Inference  :  Abnormal  devotion  to  woman. 

Why — oh,    why — did    I    ever  come   to 
college  ? 

Why — oh,  why  ? 

MARTHA. 


Danger!  261 

VI 

May  23d. 
DEAREST  LAURA  : 

That  note-book !  The  list  of  "  Dan- 
gers "  !  The  Inquiring  Mind  !  And  me  ! 

There  are  "  Dangers,"  you  know,  but — 
(Is  n't  but  an  obliging  little  word  ?  It  is 
almost  as  convenient  as  quotation  marks 
when  you  feel  the  need  of  hiding  behind 
somebody's  else  personality.) 

But  listen  ! 

Between  dinner  and  chapel,  we  were 
strolling  over  the  lawn  in  the  soft  sunset 
time,  while  the  robins  were  twittering 
sleepily  in  the  evergreens,  and  all  the 
sweetness  of  the  blossoming  day  was 
gathering  cool  and  still  around  us.  In 
dainty  light  gowns,  girls  flitted  hither  and 
thither — sauntering  over  the  walks,  frolick- 
ing through  merry  games,  making  bright 
bits  of  color  under  sombre  trees,  or, 
perched  on  window-ledges,  chattering 
gayly  as  they  watched  the  others. 

Your  young  friend  had  been  silent  for 
so  long  that  I  suspected  that  an  idea  was 
in  process  of  formation.  I  hastened  to 


262  Vassar  Studies 

forestall  interrogation.  "  Did  you  ever 
think  of  the  advantages  of  college  life  ?  " . 

Her  stern  glance  slowly  sought  me.  "  I 
came  to  college,"  she  answered  simply, 
"  did  you  ever  wonder  why  ?  " 

"No,"  gloomily;  "since  I  met  you,  I 
have  been  using  up  all  my  spare  time  in 
wondering  why  I  came  myself." 

"  There  are  dangers,"  she  reassured  me 
sympathetically. 

"  You  have  been  studying  them  ?  "  with 
alacrity  catching  at  the  opening  for  a  hint. 

"  I  heard  of  them  before  I  came." 

Invitingly,  "  Have  n't  you  been  taking 
notes  on  the  subject  all  the  year  ?  " 

"  Notes  ?  "  widening  both  eyes  upon  me 
with  the  usual  question  mark  in  the  depths 
of  each. 

"  Last  September  you  showed  me  a 
note-book  with  a  page  headed  '  Dangers 
of  College  Life,' "  I  corrected  her,  mean- 
while shocked  to  observe  in  this  hitherto 
candid  nature  a  germinating  talent  for 
prevarication. 

Her  face  flashed  comprehension.  "  So 
I  did." 


Danger !  263 

"  Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  help  you 
with  suggestions." 

"  Suggestions — for  my  notes  ?  Oh,  I 
wish  that  you  would  !  "  beginning  to  fumble 
in  her  pocket ;  "  you  could  assist  me  better 
than  any  one  else." 

"  Possibly  I  serve  as  illustrative  of  each 
item  ?  " 

"  Why,  how  did  you  know  ?"  in  radiant 
assent. 

"An  undoubted  case  of  mind-reading" — 
the  tone  was  merely  coated  with  sweetness; 
"  intuition,  you  know,  a  sort  of  sublimated 
instinct,  so  inferior  to  keenness — that  sub- 
limation of  masculine  reason." 

She  looked  troubled.  "  That  may  be  a 
'  Danger ' — rationalism,  loss  of  femininity, 
and  so  forth." 

"It  is  a  pity  that  I  do  not  wear  a  danger 
signal  on  my — hatband,  for  instance." 

"  There  are  dangers,"  she  persisted,  as 
she  fished  up  from  the  depths  of  some- 
where a  small  brown  note-book.  "  You 
may  skip  the  scribbled  part,"  graciously, 
"  and  please  tell  me  if  I  am  right  in  my 
interpretation  of  facts.  Some  of  the  facts 


264  Vassar  Studies 

bothered   me   as   much  as  if   they   were 
conundrums." 

The  book  fluttered  open  in  an  accus- 
tomed way. 

"  DANGERS  OF  COLLEGE  LIFE 

"  Dangers  of  College  Life.  Dangers  of  College 
Life.  Dangers.  Dangers.  Lack  of  seriousness  in 
dealing  with  weighty  problems.  Lack  of  serious- 
ness. Full  of  fun.  Full  of  fun,  fun,  fun.  Fun. 
Fun  of  College  Life.  Fun. 

"  I  am  tired  of  taking  notes  on  dangers, 
and  besides  everybody  knows  all  about 
them.  Once  upon  a  time  people  talked 
about  the  dangers  of  bicycle-riding. 

"  Later.  An  idea  for  my  note-book. 
An  Idea !  I  have  just  read  that  no  one 
can  spend  four  years  at  Vassar  without 
bearing  the  Vassar  mark.  Think  of  all 
the  unsuspicious  girls  who  come  to  this 
college  without  knowing  anything  about 
that  mark  ! 

"  Maybe  the  Vassar  mark  is  dangerous. 
If  it  is,  I  shall  not  come  back  to  college 
after  this  year. 


Danger  !  265 

"NOTES  ON  THE  VASSAR  MARK 

FACT.  DEDUCTION. 

I.  —  Concealment    of    earnest-  | 

ness  under  light  words  ;  !  Reserve 

e.  g.,  "  I  came  to  college  f       of  manner. 

for  fun." 

II.  —  Hallowe'en  celebration  Adaptability. 

III.—  Imitation  politics       .          I  Sense  of 

)  humor. 

IV.  —  The    unrecognized    caller  [ 

)  feelings. 

V.  —  Cooking  in  rooms       .  Versatility. 

VI.  —  Care  for  personal  appear-  )  0 

I  Self-respect. 
ance 

VII.  —  Sitting    up   late     to  write  )  T 

....        ,        -if  Unselfishness. 
valentines  for  the  girls.  ) 

VIII.  —  Zeal   for  study,  especially  \ 

during     examination  >•  Enthusiasm. 
week  ) 

IX.  —  Responsiveness       to      my  \ 

thoughts  at  the  skating  (  Sympathy. 
carnival  .         .          ) 


X.  —  Readiness  to  laugh     .  Cheerfulness. 

I.  —  Practical      allowance     for  }  T 

Lack  of 
physical  influences,  e. 


pysica   inuences,  e.  ?..  r         .  ,. 

.   *  '  \  sentimentality 
blues    and    dyspepsia.      J 

lve 
ability. 


XII.—  Distribution  of  May  baskets.  I  Executlve 

) 


266  Vassar  Studies 

"  Summary :  I  have  decided  to  come 
back  to  college  next  year." 

I  looked  up  from  the  note-book  with  my 
very  best  smile.  "  You  have  a  talent  for 
interpretation." 

"  Yes,"  with  a  sigh  of  self-approval, 
"  and  I  am  so  glad  that  you  enjoyed 
the  notes.  But  there  really  are  dan- 
gers." 

"  It  may  be  that  they  belong  to  the 
variety  of  '  dangers '  which  are  not  exactly 
dangerous,"  consolingly. 

"  As,  for  instance—    -  ?  " 

"  As,  for  instance,  the  danger  that  we 
may  be  late  to  chapel." 

The  gong  had  struck,  and  the  girls 
were  slowly  drifting  over  the  grass  toward 
the  entrance.  A  wistfulness  crept  into 
her  face  as  she  watched  them.  "  I  do  not 
know  why  they  all  came  to  college,  but " — 
and  her  eyes  seemed  to  look  afar  off— 
"  I  think  I  see  why  they  stay." 

"In  spite  of  the  'dangers'?"  I 
muttered  in  vengeful  thought. 

"Oh,  the  'dangers.'" 


Danger !  267 

A   long   silence.     Then,    "  Bother   the 
'  dangers ' ! " 
(I  fainted.) 


There  are  "  dangers,"  but 

Even  so, 

Bother  the  "dangers"! 

MARTHA. 
P.  S. 

I    mean    "  Requiescant    in    pace,"    and 
don't  bother  them. 

M. 


XII 
ONE   OF   THE   GIRLS 


AT  the  crest  of  the  hill  the  wind  met 
them  with  a  gust  that  made  the  tall  girl 
clutch  her  cap  as  she  pushed  on  unwink- 
ing and  with  head  erect  to  seat  herself  on 
the  highest  rock  of  the  stone  wall  ridged 
across  the  summit.  The  little  one,  sent 
flying  after  a  scarlet  tam-o'-shanter,  came 
struggling  up,  with  color  tingled  into 
cheeks  and  eyes  shining,  to  lean  breath- 
less against  the  solitary  tree  which  crowned 
the  height.  The  third,  whose  frail  slen- 
derness  caused  it  to  appear  natural  that 
she  should  sway  before  the  riotous  breeze, 
slipping  along  by  the  wall,  sank  down  in  a 
sunny  nook  sheltered  from  the  gale.  As 
she  sat  there  with  her  hands  lying  idly  in 
her  lap,  the  grave  lines  of  her  face  seemed 
268 


One  of  the  Girls  269 

to  relax,  and  her  lips  parted  in  an  uncon- 
scious smile,  while  her  gaze  wandered 
happily  over  clumps  of  sere  woods,  mead- 
ows, and  brown  fields,  to  a  cluster  of  red 
buildings  nestling  among  evergreens. 

With  curly  head  tilted  on  one  side,  the 
girl  under  the  tree  was  contemplating  her 
reflectively.  "  Sara,  I  believe  that  you 
really  love  the  old  college,  and  it  is  only  a 
place.  I  care  most  for  persons." 

For  a  minute  no  word  came  from  the 
cosy  niche  ;  then  softly,  as  if  thinking 
aloud,  "  I  do  love  it,  Marjorie." 

"  Well,"  meditatively,  "  I  am  fond  of  it 
myself,  but  then  I  do  not  exactly  cling  to 
the  institution  when  vacation  arrives,  and 
I  do  allow  my  friends  to  allude  occasion- 
ally to  Commencement  Day,  seeing  that 
it  is  two  years  distant." 

Glancing  at  the  blithe  face,  Sara's 
thoughts  strayed  back  to  her  sensitive 
childhood  saddened  by  the  anxieties  of 
those  about  her,  to  her  girlish  days  early 
shadowed  by  responsibility  and  care,  and 
then  to  the  light-hearted  pleasantness  of 
her  life  at  college.  Her  independent  na- 


270  Vassar  Studies 

ture,  enabling  her  to  live  within  herself 
and  to  create  her  own  interests,  inspired 
her  with  a  craving  for  freedom  from  bonds, 
however  dear.  More  intense  than  in  the 
generality  of  others  was  her  shrinking  from 
disturbing  emotions.  At  college  she  was 
released  from  the  thousand  obligations 
which  spring  from  the  close  relations  of 
family  intercourse.  In  the  aloofness  of 
existence  here  among  books  and  happy 
girls,  she  could  thrust  out  of  her  mind  the 
knowledge  of  trouble,  bitterness,  and 
grief.  Wistfully  her  eyes  lingered  over 
the  far-away  hills,  before  returning  restful 
to  the  protecting  evergreens.  "  It  is  dif- 
ferent from  the  world,"  she  said. 

The  girl  who  was  perched  unflinchingly 
upon  the  windy  top  of  the  stone  wall  here 
turned  sternly  toward  her  companions. 
"  Something  is  wrong  with  the  world." 

Marjorie  gave  a  little  jump,  and  stared 
at  the  accusing  figure  ;  then  she  broke 
into  a  merry  laugh.  "  I  knew  that  you 
were  cold  up  there,  Gertrude." 

Sara  was  half  smiling.  "  What  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it  ? " 


l-l 


THE  SENIOR   PARLOR. 


One  of  the  Girls  271 

"I  don't  know  yet  "-—Gertrude  was 
frowning  in  perplexity ;  "  I  have  been 
thinking  about  it  for  a  long  while — ever 
since  I  heard  about  Armenia.  It  is  not 
right  to  do  nothing.  Think  of  all  the 
misery  ! " 

"Don't  think  of  it.     It  does  no  good, 
and   it   makes   you  unhappy   yourself " 
Sara    was   speaking   slowly — "  and    your 
duty    is  to    increase  the   sum  of   human 
happiness  by  one." 

"  A  corrupter  of  youth — Marius  the 
Epicurean,"  murmured  Marjorie. 

"  Over  there,"  continued  Gertrude,  un- 
heeding, as  she  pointed  vaguely  toward 
the  faint  blue  outlines  of  the  Kaatskills, 
"lies  the  Asylum  for  the  Insane,  with  all 
those  hopeless  faces  in  the  long  gloomy 
halls." 

"  It  smells  of  whitewash,"  commented 
Marjorie. 

Sara  was  moving  uneasily.  "  What  is 
the  use  of  talking  of  such  things  ?  " 

"  Down  the  river,"  went  on  the  inexora- 
ble voice,  "  we  can  almost  see  the  walls  of 
Sing  Sing.  Lives  utterly  ruined  !  And 


272  Vassar  Studies 

over  there  in  town,  just  a  mile  away  from 
us,  lonely  wrinkled  old  men  and  women  sit 
by  the  windows  of  the  Almshouse— 

"  Please  don't,"  shivered  Sara,  gazing 
resolutely  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"  Down  in  the  streets  of  the  city  are 
little  children  hungry  and  cold— 

"  I  Ve  noticed  them,"  broke  in  Marjorie  ; 
"  they  never  wear  rubbers,  and  they  play 
around  in  the  gutters  with  their  shoes  soak- 
ing wet.  Every  time  we  go  to  town,  Sara 
gives  them  pennies,  though  I  keep  telling 
her  about  offering  a  premium  to  poverty, 
and  the  evil  of  encouraging  vagrancy." 

"  And  there,"  the  severe  tones  softened, 
"  there  is  our  beautiful  college,  away  from 
the  dust  and  hurry  and  struggle  and  sorrow 
and  need  of  the  world,  with  no  worries  or 
troubles— 

"  I  worry  over  examinations,"  put  in 
Marjorie,  looking  melancholy. 

The  accusing  words  rang  out :  "  What 
right  have  we  to  spend  four  years  in  caring 
solely  for  ourselves?  How  dare  we  be 
happy  while  there  is  misery  all  around 
us?" 


One  of  the  Girls  273 

Upon  the  silence  fell  a  meek  suggestion 
from  Marjorie  :  "  I  thought  that  we  were 
preparing  ourselves  to  help  the  world  !  " 

"  Peculiar  training  for  an  unselfish  life  !  " 

Sara,  who  had  been  staring  at  the  horizon 
line  with  the  effect  of  not  listening,  slowly 
rose,  shrugging  her  shoulders  as  if  en- 
deavoring to  throw  off  a  weight.  "If  you 
feel  that  way,"  she  remarked  dryly,  "  why 
do  you  stay  here  two  years  longer  ? " 

Marjorie  to  the  rescue :  "  Why,  of 
course,  her  family  want  her  to  graduate." 

Already  a  few  paces  down  the  hillside, 
Sara  glanced  back.  "  Without  doubt,  she 
should  sacrifice  herself  to  her  family." 

The  others  lingered,  Gertrude  turning 
to  Marjorie  for  sympathy.  "You  under- 
stand, don't  you?" 

Marjorie  struggled  to  rise  to  the  esti- 
mate. "  I  understand  a  little.  Life  puz- 
zles me  sometimes.  I  think  that  perhaps 
we  ought  to  try  to  make  the  best  of  things," 
looking  shyly  away  as  if  embarrassed  at 
the  didactic  tone  of  her  own  suggestion. 

As  they  were  picking  their  steps  down 
the  rock-strewn  lane,  Gertrude,  regarding 


iS 


274  Vassar  Studies 

the  figure  a  short  distance  ahead,  mur- 
mured meditatively,  "  Don't  you  think 
that  our  life  at  college  has  a  tendency  to 
make  the  girls  selfish  ?  " 

"  Well,"  responded  Marjorie,  reflecting, 
"  we  do  have  fun." 

II 

Sara  was  standing  at  the  window,  idly 
twisting  the  curtain-cord  about  her  fingers, 
as  she  watched  an  evening  mist  creep  over 
the  soaked  lawn. 

"  Do  you  know,"  began  Marjorie,  pa- 
tiently striving  before  the  mirror  to  pin 
her  hair  at  exactly  the  proper  angle  to 
make  her  features  appear  regular,  "  I  sus- 
pect that  Gertrude  has  an  idea  ?  " 

"  She  is  always  having  ideas ;  she  is 
young  yet." 

Marjorie  was  anxiously  surveying  the 
outline  of  her  head  in  profile.  "  I  wish 
that  my  nose  were  a  trifle  more  accommo- 
dating," she  sighed ;  adding  at  conversa- 
tional pitch,  "It  is  an  idea  about  helping 
the  world,  and  I  am  certain  that  she  is 
working  it  out." 


One  of  the  Girls  275 

"  I  hope  that  it  is  a  pleasant  idea," 
lazily. 

"  Pleasant  for  some  people.  For  in- 
stance, she  has  given  up  eating  any  des- 
sert except  rice-pudding,  because  she 
calculates  that  if  she  has  less  the  servants 
will  have  more." 

"  Logical." 

"  Lately  she  never  sends  out  for  rare 
beef  or  more  butter,  because  she  thinks 
that  the  maids  are  tired  from  ironing  all 
day." 

"  I  never  commit  either  crime." 

"  Because  you  like  beef  well  done,  and 
you  do  not  care  for  butter.  I  notice  a 
great  many  things  without  appearing  to 
do  so,"  replied  Marjorie,  with  a  little  air 
of  conscious  merit  which  provoked  Sara  to 
steal  a  sidelong  glance  and  smile  to  herself. 

"She  did  not  go  to  the  last  Hall  Play 
at  all,  because,  after  waiting  until  every- 
body else  was  seated,  she  found  that  there 
was  no  room  left.  And  she  gave  her 
ticket  for  Rip  Van  Winkle  to  a  freshman 
who  could  not  afford  it,  and  she  wanted 
to  go  awfully— 


276  Vassar  Studies 

"  Who  wanted  awfully  ?  " 

"  Both  of  them.  And  now  she  always 
lets  the  other  girls  have  the  reference 
books  first,  no  matter  how  long  she  has 
waited.  And  she  does  everything  any- 
body wants  her  to  do  ;  I  have  requested  a 
number  of  favors  on  purpose  to  find  out." 

"  She  is  rather  foolish  " — Sara  was  lying 
back  in  a  steamer-chair  with  her  hands 
clasped  behind  her  head — "  and  she  fancies 
that  she  is  helping  the  old  world  roll  along 
more  easily.  Did  you  read  that  short 
magazine  story  concerning  the  phases  of 
moral  development  out  of  naturalness 
while  at  college — or  anywhere,  for  that 
matter  ?  Selfishness,  self-abnegation,  self- 
realization.  She  has  reached  the  suicidal 
second  stage  —  reaction  from  the  first. 
She  ought  to  be  taught  that  her  first  duty, 
according  to  the  principles  of  ethics,  is  to 
herself." 

In  the  act  of  lighting  the  gas,  Marjorie 
stood  motionless  until  the  match  burned 
her  fingers.  Then  in  an  ominously  quiet 
voice,  "  When  do  you  think  that  you  will 
arrive  at  that  stage  ?  " 


One  of  the  Girls  277 

Sara  laughed  under  her  breath.  "  A 
sad,  sad  case.  Give  it  up."  She  turned 
her  face  toward  the  darkening  sky.  "  Apro- 
pos of  nothing  in  particular,  there  is  your 
Wit  and  Wisdom  on  the  ledge.  I  have 
been  learning  quotations,  simply,  of  course, 
to  fill  up  gaps  in  conversation."  The 
voice  changed  to  dreamy  tones.  "  '  Every 
bond  of  your  life  is  a  debt,  my  daughter  '- 
a  debt,  my  daughter.  Marjorie,  Marjorie  ! " 
with  sudden  energy,  "  did  you  ever  long 
to  be  free  from  every  relation  —  every 
obligation — free,  free,  free  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  responded  her 
companion  judicially ;  "  it  might  be 
lonely." 

"  Sensible  child  ! " 

"  Well," — but  hereupon  the  warning 
whir-r-r  of  a  far-away  gong  preluded  the 
clamor  announcing  dinner,  and  Marjorie 
broke  off  to  hurry  Sara  out  of  her  indolent 
ease. 

As  the  two  girls  were  walking  down  the 
long  corridor  toward  the  dining-room, 
they  were  joined  by  Gertrude,  glowing 
from  an  afternoon  in  the  open  air.  Com- 


Vassar  Studies 


ing  as  she  did  from  the  chill  and  darkness 
into  the  light  and  warmth  and  cheer  which 
filled  the  hospitable  building,  she  felt  a 
quick  throb  of  impulsive  contentment. 
Throwing  an  arm  around  each  of  her 
friends,  she  burst  out  :  "  Is  n't  this  the 
loveliest  place  !  See  how  the  gas-jets 
shine  out  like  great  stars  all  down  the 
hall,  and  away  off  there  at  the  end  is 
that  radiant  golden  globe  between  the 
portieres— 

"  It  is  the  library  lamp  in  the  senior 
parlor,"  volunteered  Marjorie.  "  I  know 
who  lent  it." 

"  And  the  girls  stream  out  from  their 
rooms  in  their  pretty  gowns,"  continued 
Gertrude. 

"  And  the  elevator  rattles  up  and  down," 
added  Marjorie. 

"  And  everything  is  warm  and  fresh  and 
sweet,  and  the  girls  all  look  happy." 

"  Because  it  is  ice-cream  night,  and— 
um-m-m  —  I  almost  smell  the  frosting  on 
the  angel-cake." 

"  And  everything  is  perfectly  lovely," 
with  an  enjoying  sigh. 


One  of  the  Girls  279 

Sara  had  halted  to  close  a  window 
against  the  damp  night  air.  "  It  is  horrid 
outside,"  she  said. 

Ill 

One  evening  a  month  or  so  later,  during 
the  singing  of  the  hymn  in  chapel,  Mar- 
jorie  leaned  forward  with  mischievous  face 
to  whisper  to  Sara  :  "  May  I  secure  the 
privilege  of  writing  your  biography  ?  " 

Sara,  frowning,  bent  her  eyes  on  her 
book. 

"  You  might  as  well  acknowledge  it," 
persisted  Marjorie ;  "  when  I  passed  you, 
I  heard  what  the  professor  said.  He  told 
you  that  you  possessed  remarkable  ability, 
great  opportunities,  and  so  forth.  Very 
likely  he  pointed  out  the  path  of  duty  in 
the  direction  of  original  research,  and  I 
am  sure  that  he  offered — or,  at  least,  sug- 
gested strongly — the  graduate  fellowship 
in  his  department  for  year  after  next. 
Did  n't  he  ?  " 

The  closely  shut  lips  refused  to  move. 

"Did  he?  Did  n't  he?  Did  he  ?  Didn't 
he  ?  If  you  won't  nod  yes  or  no,  I  shall 


280  Vassar  Studies 

tell  all  the  girls  what  I  heard.  Did  n't 
he?" 

The  tormentor  caught  a  sharp  "  Mar- 
jorie  ! "  flung  over  the  shoulder  which  she 
was  nudging. 

"  Tell  me,  tell  me  !  I  can  keep  a  secret. 
And  besides,  I  am  so  interested.  I  have 
always  said  that  you  were  the  brightest 
girl  in  college.  Tell  me !  People  are 
beginning  to  look  at  us.  Please,  please 
tell  me.  I  am  so  anxious  about  your 
career.  Please —  Aha !  I  knew  it.  I 
shall  begin  to  take  notes  for  the  biog- 
raphy to-morrow." 

That  same  evening,  after  a  concert  at 
which  Marjorie  had  furnished  variations 
consisting  of  ecstatic  congratulations  and 
commendations  of  her  own  good  taste  in 
choosing  so  brilliant  a  friend,  the  two 
girls  loitered  in  a  mood  of  reasonless 
laughter  through  the  corridors.  When 
they  pushed  open  the  door  of  Sara's  room, 
Marjorie  gave  a  shriek  of  envy  at  sight  of 
a  white  envelope  lying  on  the  table  under 
the  faint  glow  of  a  crimson-shaded  drop- 
light.  "  A  letter  piled  on  top  of  all  your 


One  of  the  Girls  281 

other  blessings  !  "  she  wailed,  while  Sara, 
picking  it  up,  idly  turned  it  about  by  the 
corners. 

"  It  is  from  home,"    she  said  simply. 

"  Won't  they  be  proud  of  you  ! "  ex- 
claimed the  younger  girl,  generous  in 
appreciation.  "  If  you  come  back  as  a 
graduate  fellow  one  year,  without  doubt 
you  will  win  two  additional  years  some- 
where, and  that  means  a  Ph.D.,  and  then 
-glory!" 

Sara  was  smiling  at  her.  "  I  wish," 
she  said,  "  that  you  would  sing  a  verse  of 
'  Alma  Mater  '  to  distract  my  mind.  My 
brain  keeps  chanting  over  and  over, 
'  Every  bond  of  your  life  is  a  debt,  my 
daughter,' — a  debt,  my  daughter  ;  '  the 
right  lies  in  the  payment  of  that  debt ;  it 
can  lie  nowhere  else.' " 

"  How  funny  !  "    commented  Marjorie. 

When  left  alone,  Sara  walked  over  to 
the  window  to  draw  the  shade,  and  stood 
motionless  a  few  minutes  looking  out  into 
the  moonlight.  Here  and  there  upon  the 
untrodden  snow  a  leafless  tree  cast  an  inter- 
lacing tracery  of  clear-cut  shadow.  U nder 


282  Vassar  Studies 

each  evergreen  the  mass  of  gloom  heavy 
at  the  centre  brightened  into  a  trans- 
parency of  graceful  embroidery  at  the 
border.  The  girl  lifted  her  eyes  to  the 
sky  where  the  moon  shone  without  a 
cloud.  Her  gaze  hovered  over  the  great 
building  with  its  outspread  wings — over 
the  turrets,  over  the  dusky  eaves  and 
angles  of  the  roof  glistening  transfigured 
in  the  soft  light.  To  her  the  whole  place 
was  glorified  by  the  enchantment  of  the 
happiest  days  she  had  ever  known. 

As  she  gazed,  her  fingers  relaxed,  and 
the  letter  fluttered  to  the  floor.  For  an- 
other minute  her  eyes  lingered  upon  the  sky 
and  passed  lovingly  over  the  hills  and  tree- 
shadows  on  the  lawn.  Then,  drawing  the 
curtain  quickly,  she  bent  to  pick  up  the  en- 
velope and  sank  down  by  the  lamp  to  read. 

"  DEAR  Sis,"  (it  ran)  : 

"  Mother  is  worried  about  Father.  He 
is  as  glum  as  anything,  and  snaps  us  up 
short,  I  tell  you,  when  we  ask  for  money. 
I  heard  him  sort  of  groan  out  once  that 
you  were  the  only  one  of  the  children 


One  of  the  Girls  283 

upon  whom  he  could  depend.  You  see, 
Jack  is  getting  pretty  wild — stays  out  late 
and  bothers  us.  He  says  that  you  know 
enough  to  stay  away  when  you  once  get 
out  of  this  '  Quaker  meeting.'  Mother 
told  him  that  when  you  come  home  it  will 
be  livelier  here  evenings.  Little  Annie 
says,  '  Tell  my  Sara  I  want  her  every  day.' 
The  little  Mother  makes  believe  that  she 
does  not  miss  you,  but  she  keeps  your  let- 
ters in  her  work-basket,  and  reads  them  so 
often  that  I  am  going  to  get  them  framed. 
I  carried  her  up-stairs  yesterday.  She  is 
as  light  as  anything.  That  white-whis- 
kered old  medicine  man  has  been  sneak- 
ing around  lately.  Mother  said  not  to 
mention  it  to  you,  because  you  might 
worry  and  interrupt  your  work,  and  you 
will  be  through  in  one  year  after  this  any- 
way. And  then  she  breathed  way  down 
deep,  and  looked  tired.  I  decided  to  tell 
you,  because  it  is  my  opinion  that  you 
ought  to  know  it ;  but  Jack  says,  '  Ho  ! 
she 's  having  too  good  a  time,  and  it 's  my 
turn  anyhow.'  He  does  not  think  of  any- 
body but  himself.  Everything  is  all 


284  Vassar  Studies 

wrong,  and  I  say,  Sis,  come  home,  and  let 
your  old  career  go  to  smash. 

"  HARRY." 

IV 

"  Do  you  think  that  higher  education  is 
a  fad  ? "  asked  Marjorie  from  her  perch 
on  Sara's  window-seat  "  Gertrude  says 
that  she  thinks  so." 

Silently  Sara  kept  on  arranging  her  his- 
tory notes  at  the  desk. 

Marjorie  continued :  "  I  told  her  that  I 
had  never  considered  it  in  that  light." 

"  A  rash  statement." 

"  Yes,"  with  a  sigh  ;  "  she  spent  the  rest 
of  the  hour  in  presenting  the  subject  from 
the  proper  point  of  view.  I  wonder  if  she 
is  right — I  wonder." 

''  A  safe  mental  operation." 

Marjorie  turned  her  speculative  atten- 
tion from  the  window  to  the  studious  fig- 
ure across  the  small  room.  "  I  wonder," 
she  deliberated,  "  if  that  young  woman 
needs  some  exercise." 

No  answer. 

"  She  behaves  with  astounding  flight!- 


One  of  the  Girls  285 

ness  lately — that  is,  astounding  for  a  girl  of 
'remarkable  ability.'  'Hoot,  mon!'  it  is 
time  to  laugh  ;  that  was  a  witty  allusion." 

Without  lifting  her  eyes,  Sara  slipped 
elastics  around  the  packages  of  notes,  and 
began  to  pile  them  snugly  in  a  pasteboard 
box.  Marjorie  watched  her  with  a  sober- 
ing expression.  "  Reaction  in  the  valleys 
after  mountain-climbing."  Sliding  from 
her  seat,  she  snatched  up  a  coat  and  hat, 
and  was  at  her  friend's  side.  "  Come, 
stand  up  ! "  with  a  note  of  caressing  com- 
mand in  her  voice  ;  "  I  want  you  to  go  out 
upon  some  hill  to  see  the  sunset.  Life 
looks  different  from  a  hilltop." 

Sara  was  fitting  the  last  parcel  of  notes 
into  a  corner  of  the  box.  Her  head  bent 
lower  and  lower  until  with  a  quick  move- 
ment she  pushed  aside  the  litter  of  papers 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

An  energetic  knock  at  the  door  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  abrupt  entrance  of  Gertrude. 
Stopping  short,  she  stared  with  a  dim  ap- 
prehension that  something  was  embarrass- 
ing. Sara  was  bending  to  pick  up  papers 
scattered  on  the  floor,  and  Marjorie  was 


286  Vassar  Studies 

leaning  down  to  set  erect  the  overturned 
scrap-basket.  Glancing  helplessly  from 
one  to  the  other,  the  newcomer  began  un- 
consciously to  back  toward  the  door. 
Marjorie  straightened  up.  "  Well,"  very 
sweetly,  "  have  you  made  any  new  dis- 
coveries in  the  investigation  of  fads  ? " 

Half  out  of  the  room,  Gertrude  paused 
with  her  hand  on  the  knob.  "It  has  oc- 
curred to  me  that  the  Crusades  were  a 
fad,"  she  announced  meekly  before  fading 
from  sight. 

Sara  had  repacked  her  notes,  and  was 
tying  the  cover  on  the  box.  Marjorie 
lingered.  "Won't  you  come?"  she 
pleaded.  "  I  want  you  to  give  me  argu- 
ments why  higher  education  is  not  a  fad. 
You  care  more  for  study  than  for  anything 
else,  because  you  have  the  temperament 
of  a  scholar  as  well  as  the  ability.  You 
did  not  choose  to  come  to  college  just  be- 
cause it  is  getting  to  be  the  fashion. 
Higher  education  a  fad  !  There  is  my 
aunt — she  had  to  leave  Vassar  in  her 
junior  year,  and  she  says  that  it  has  been 
the  regret  of  her  life," 


One  of  the  Girls  287 

Sara  had  risen  and  stood  with  her  face 
toward  the  window.  Marjorie  waited. 
"  You  ought  to  go  out  for  fresh  air,"  she 
coaxed  gently  ;  "  you  are  nervous.  Your 
hands  are  doubled  up  tight.  Please 
come." 

"  Will  you  go  ?  " 

Marjorie  shrank  away  as  if  struck. 

In  a  moment  Sara  heard  the  door  close 
softly. 


Sara  stood  on  the  steps  at  the  end  of 
the  walk  leading  down  to  the  lake.  To  and 
fro  over  the  dark  ice  glided  the  skaters. 
Beyond  rose  a  background  of  snowy  shores 
drawing  a  tracery  of  bare  trees  against  the 
glowing  sky.  A  troop  of  girls  swinging 
their  skates  came  down  the  path.  As  they 
passed,  one  called  to  her,  "  Do  you  count 
what  you  are  doing  exercise  ?  "  and  another 
tossed  back  gayly,  "  A  chilly  monument 
for  smiling  at  grief,  Sara  !  "  She  watched 
them  sit  down  upon  the  improvised 
benches  to  fasten  their  skates  before  start- 
ing out  with  long  undulating  strokes  to 


288  Vassar  Studies 

join  the  light-hearted  frolicking  upon  the 
ice. 

The  rose  color  in  the  west  had  faded  to 
pale  grays  and  greens  before  the  girl, 
ceasing  to  be  motionless,  turned  her  face 
toward  the  college.  Her  eyes  rested  al- 
most fiercely  upon  the  solid  pile  stretch- 
ing out  its  dingy  red  length  in  the  twilight. 
Lights  here  and  there  were  beginning  to 
glow  behind  drawn  curtains.  As  she  came 
nearer,  her  feet  dragged  more  and  more 
slowly,  until  they  halted,  leaving  her  star- 
ing up  at  the  library  windows  ablaze  with 
generous  illumination.  Hungrily  her  gaze 
wandered  over  every  detail,  from  the  busts 
high  up  on  the  shelves  to  the  rows  and  rows 
of  books.  She  could  just  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  great  fireplace  near  the  spiral  stair- 
case in  one  corner,  and  a  vase  of  flowers  on 
the  librarian's  desk  in  another.  A  student 
or  two  were  bending  above  each  glistening 
table.  Over  it  all  hovered  the  atmosphere 
of  serenely  pleasant  days,  melting — one 
into  the  other — in  scholarly  enjoyment. 

A  low  voice  breaking  in  upon  Sara's 
aloofness  told  that  Marjorie  was  hesitating 


One  of  the  Girls  289 

beside  her.  "  Are  you  wishing  that  you 
had  not  finished  the  work  on  your  special 
topic  so  soon  ?" 

After  an  instant's  pause,  "  It  is  an  ugly 
old  building,"  commented  Sara  in  reply. 

In  amazement,  "  Why,  I  thought  that 
you  cared  for  it ! " 

Glancing  at  her,  Sara  began  to  walk  on 
with  her  eyes  on  her  muff. 

A  few  steps  side  by  side  in  silence,  and 
then,  anxious  to  dispel  gloom,  the  younger 
girl  spoke  :  "  The  students  are  discussing 
possible  class  presidents  for  next  year, 
Sara.  Ever  so  many  say  that  you  would 
be  the  best  choice  for  us.  But  more  think 
that  you  are  better  fitted  to  be  president 
of  the  Students'  Association,  because  the 
senior  president  ought  to  be  more  social. 
I  consider  the  other  more  of  an  honor, 
don't  you  ?  Fancy — president  of  Stu- 
dents', and  then  graduate  fellow,  and  then 
—oh,  I  don't  know  what  all — almost  any- 
thing excellent.  Won't  our  class  be  proud 
of  you  !  And  your  family  !  A  daughter 
with  a  Career — a  Future  before  her  !  " 

Sara   answered   nothing  until  they  had 


Vassar  Studies 


reached  the  main  entrance,  and  Mar- 
jorie  was  bracing1  her  slender  little  frame 
to  push  open  the  heavy  door.  Sara 
turned  to  look  once  more  towards  the 
west  where  the  sun  had  set.  The  sky 
was  darkening  into  gray,  behind  the  bleak 
outlines  of  the  leafless  trees.  A  chill  wind 
had  sprung  up.  Sara  shivered.  Then, 
drawing  a  long  breath,  she  spoke  quietly  : 
"  I  have  decided  not  to  come  back  to 
college  next  year,  Marjorie.  I  am  needed 
at  home." 


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and  power  of  this  novel.  But  true  as  it  is  to  life  and  place,  full  of  deep  interest,  rare 
humor,  and  vivid  descriptions,  there  seemed  to  be  risk  of  its  passing  unheeded  in  the 
crowd  and  rush  and  ruck  of  fiction." 

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"  All  the  persons  in  the  book  are  definite,  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the  story  is  crisp 
and  clear — a  tale  of  uncommon  thoughtfulness  and  power." 

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"  The  work  of  a  clever  writer." — The  Atheneeum. 

"  A  rattling  good  story  of  the  Southwest.  The  tale  is  well  built,  and  ends  with  an 
exciting  battle." — Buffalo  Express. 

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exciting  incidents  and  adventure." — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

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ing American  with  plenty  of  grit  and  good  sense,  successful  in  love  as  well  as  in  fighting 
Indians." — Burlington  Free  Press. 

Miss  Cayley's  Adventures. 

By  GRANT  ALLEN,  author  of  "  Flowers  and  Their  Pedigrees," 
etc.     With  80  illustrations.     12°. 

This  is  the  obverse  of  the  old  story  of  the  youth  who  starts  forth  with  a  sound  heart 
and  tuppence  in  his  pocket  to  win  his  fortune.  Mr.  Allen's  youth  is  a  girl,  a  graduate  of 
Girton,  who  is  left  penniless,  and  who  is  compelled  to  make  her  own  way  in  life.  Her 
varied  experiences  are  told  in  Mr.  Allen's  old-time  graceful  manner,  which  won  for  him  an 
international  reputation. 

Vassar  Studies. 

By  JULIA  A.  SCHWARTZ,  A.M.  ('96).     With    u  illustrations. 
12° $i  25 

Miss  Schwartz's  collection  of  studies  has  been  planned  to  reproduce,  by  means  of 
emphasizing  in  each  paper  a  characteristic  element  or  quality  of  student  life,  a  faithful 
impression  of  the  spirit  and  personality  of  modern  Vassar.  She  has  treated  of  character 
rather  than  incident ;  yet  her  stories  are  not  lacking  in  action  nor  in  the  picturesque  back- 
ground of  college  pastime  as  well  as  that  of  college  work. 

The  Treasure  of  Mushroom  Rock. 

A  Story  of  Prospecting  in  the  Rocky  Mountains.     By   SID- 
FORD  F.  HAMP.     Illustrated.     12°. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON. 


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